Sacrifices
by Purple-Martin111
Summary: Sometimes doing the right thing means sacrificing a part of yourself. In the wake of the events at the Listening Post, Sole Survivor Jacqueline struggles with the consequences of her choices. While Danse is prepared to let the Commonwealth burn on his path to seek righteousness for not only himself but for the woman he has devoted his life to.
1. Aftermath

**_Warnings_** _for suicidal thoughts, rape/non-con, strong language, violence, sexual content, it's rated M for a reason._

* * *

 _"You've been the only thing that's right_  
 _In all I've done._  
 _And I can barely look at you"_

 _-Run, Snow Patrol-_

"Are you angry?" In the aftermath of her confession, Jackie couldn't bear to look at him. Twisting and churning, her gut was in knots, this place held enough heartache but she couldn't keep this from him.

"I don't know," Danse admitted, gaze fixed upon the ceiling. Even from her peripherals, she could see the pensive expression that hijacked his features.

Since Jackie had stepped into this place, condemned to be his personal prison, Danse hadn't made eye contact with her. He had barely acknowledged her presence, until she'd slunk over and slid down the concrete wall to nestle beside him. Jackie thought he had been making progress, healing even, but it seemed he hadn't fared well in her absence. It broke her heart when she had returned, to see Danse had hardly moved since her previous visit. His back still propped against the wall, he sat hiding in the dark, with his head in his hands.

After Danse had been cruelly robbed of all that defined him, including his humanity, Jackie had spent weeks with him. Weeks helping him figure out what it meant to be alive and live without the Brotherhood but most importantly, understanding that even though he was a synth, he was still a person of value. He was still a good man.

The days following his _execution_ had been wrought with endless silence. It threatened to consume Danse in a black hole of meaningless existence. Until one night Jackie awoke to the sounds of silent sobbing. Danse was sat on the edge of his bed with his face buried in his hands. Even through the darkness Jackie could see the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders, hear his stuttering breath as he attempted to smother his sobs.

Jackie had gone simply to sit beside him, offering quiet comfort with her presence and after a while he had looked at her; hopeless and broken, and finally admitted that he didn't know what the hell he was doing anymore. She had contended that maybe it was ok not to have a plan and promised that whatever life threw at them, she would be there for him.

 _You watch my back, I'll watch yours_ , she had reminded him.

When she had stood to go back to her bunk, Danse caught her arm and tugged her towards him, pulling her into his arms with such force that they toppled over onto the mattress. When his trembling subsided, Jackie gently held Danse's face as he told her he would be lost without her.

During the weeks after, she had taken him to the nearby settlements and put him to work fortifying their defenses and training the residents how properly to defend themselves. Little by little, Danse had been reclaiming the humanity that had been stolen from him and was finding purpose in his life once more.

With the passing of time, Jackie had laid the Brotherhood to rest and decided she wasn't going back. The days had turned to weeks and before long nearly two months had passed before the Brotherhood came to reclaim what was theirs.

Backed by the setting sun in early May, a vertibird and a familiar face, clad in ridiculous aviators and enough smug arrogance to sail the Prydwen to the moon, a lancer had come under orders to bring Jackie back. She assured Danse that she wouldn't be long. She'd show face, go along with the pomp and circumstance, and promptly hand in her resignation. A few days, maybe a week, she promised.

Now Jackie couldn't stand to look at Danse because she had failed him. Abandoned him in this miserable bunker because her hand had been forced and the burden weighed heavy on her heart.

Finally, Danse looked at her but still she refused to meet his gaze. For she feared what he would discover from deep within. Under it all, she was terrified and ashamed. Maxson had broken her. Played to her weaknesses and sliced along her vulnerable underbelly, threatening to make her bleed by destroying the man she'd sacrifice anything to protect.

Danse's eyes immediately focused on the discoloration of her neck that her jacket didn't quite hide. He swept her hair aside and tugged at the collar of her shirt to see the extent of the blue and purple splotches that stained her shoulder and chest. She had waited a few days in hopes that bruises would fade, but like a tattoo, they were branded on her skin. His fingers ran along the markings and she winced at his touch. Shameful proof of her violation.

"Did he hurt you?" Danse's voice betrayed nothing except the clinical calmness of a bedside examination.

Jackie shrugged away, an abstract smudge of dirt on the floor the focus of her attention. Try as she might though, his voice confirmed what she didn't want to admit. This had happened. It was real.

There was no escaping what she'd done. The admission hurt like hell and no amount of attempting to swallow her shame could keep the tears from streaking down her cheeks, "Just my pride."

With a sigh, Danse went to catch her tears, "You shouldn't-"

"Everything has a price," she pawed his hands way. "I threatened him, shoved my gun in his face, backed him into a corner… Did you really think Maxson wouldn't make me pay for my actions?"

"This…" he shook his head, hands retreating to his side, "the price was too high. I…it wasn't worth it." At least he had the decency to catch himself and not defile her by saying _he_ wasn't worth it.

"Don't!" This time she did look at him. Her head snapped around and she could feel the flush of indignation on her skin. Tears dripped uninhibited from her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ patronize me by devaluing my decision to fight for you! I made my choice and so did you. We made this bed together. Now we have to lie in it."

It was his turn to look away and hide. To cower in his corner. Slip into himself where no one could reach him.

"You aren't the only one who lost something here," she wrapped her arms around her ribs, holding herself and staring at her knees. "If you care about me - even in the slightest - you won't let my sacrifices be in vain."

"I'm not ok with this." It was mumbled, like his words actually meant something. As if he could put action behind what he said.

She shifted and drew up her knees to press her forehead into the knobby join of her legs, "And you think I am?"

The question went unanswered but she didn't have it in her to press the issue. Instead, she let the tears continue to track down her face and run along her thighs before plummeting to the floor.

Fragmented pieces of her former self splintered in her chest, the jagged edges scraping and tearing at her with each squeeze of her heart. Who was this woman she had become? On the outside, she looked much the same but an ugliness had consumed her. A disease that festered within and ruined everything it touched. Her insides were boiled and black. She had become infected by the sickness of this godforsaken world. And to think, she now called it her home.

This place where the wicked and the damned reaped the fruitful rewards of their lawlessness. They sat high and mighty upon their spoils of war, taking the desires of their flesh, without care for who they trampled in their merciless, single-minded path to obtain it.

A world where innocence and humility were violations of the human condition because here you were conditioned not to think, not to feel. Because independent thought and emotions would get you killed or left for dead in a ditch. The idea that it was ok to desecrate the body and take the life of another simply because they looked at you wrong was commonplace here. It was disgusting and vile and somehow Jackie had found herself surviving, even thriving in this new world. It was ruining her, bending and molding her, and desensitizing her to forsake her humanity. What scared her the most, though, was the thought that maybe she was ok with that.

She could help but wonder what Danse think of her now. It was impossible now for her to rise to meet his expectations. She was damaged. Not worthy of his compassion.

 _'I'm not ok with this.'_

Could he forgive her for her transgressions? Would he leave her? Could she live with herself if he did?

Selfish. She was such a selfish woman. This had all been about what _she_ wanted. He deserved better.

Jackie dared to turn her face toward him, to steal a coveted glance at the man she had sacrificed everything for - everything including herself. She had laid out all her cards on the table and in the face of victory, she still lost. Now she had to live with her choices, live with herself, as did he. Danse was entitled to so much more than she had to give. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"I just thought you deserved to know the truth." It was a meager excuse and she wasn't worthy of staying here any longer, "I should go." Though she made no attempt to leave.

Danse sat much the same as her: hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, and fingers knotted in his hair. Still, she saw the twitch of his lips and tensing of his jaw as his eyes squeezed shut, and she knew.

"You're angry." The statement hung in the air, but he remained unmoved. Unflinching. Unyielding.

The impact of what she had done was finally beginning to settle in. He was angry. She would not be forgiven. Why? Why would he forgive her? Why on earth would she even entertain the idea that he would? The trap had been set and she had foolishly walked straight into it. Now she would lie with the devil, sign his pact, and give away her soul. All in the name of honor and glory. All to save Danse's own soul.

"I don't belong here. I don't…" she turned away and held herself closer, trying to fall deeper into the cavern of guilt that consumed her, "...you deserve so much better."

Before the fresh tears could even form, Danse tugged at her arm and his fingers closed around her chin. He jerked her face toward him, forcing their eyes to meet. There was determination in his muddy browns, a fierceness she hadn't seen in quite some time.

"I'm only angry at myself," he held her gaze, searching her eyes to make sure his message was received, "that I couldn't protect you from this." He was gentler now. Releasing her chin to press his hand against her cheek.

Jackie gravitated toward his touch and closed her eyes as she leaned into his warmth. A beacon of hope that all was not lost.

"Look at me." Both of his hands cradled her face and reluctantly she opened her eyes, "this isn't your fault." The fierceness in his eyes shifted to reveal something more sinister, "I'll burn down the entire Commonwealth if he lays a hand on you again."

She almost had the decency to smile at his conviction, but she was reminded, "You don't have the luxury of making that promise."

The determination that was present before quickly faded. In the seconds it took for Danse's expression to shift, she could see the desolation of defeat hover across his brow before he could erect the facade.

"I will find a way to make this right." Again his words held no value, but maybe she could pretend they did. Maybe it would ease the raw and achy feeling.

For a moment nothing happened. Neither of them moved or even breathed. They sat in an eternity of silence and Jackie allowed herself to drown in the warm pools of his brown eyes. Perhaps if she lingered there his empty promises would chase away the devastating reality that she had failed.

Danse shuffled and slipped his arms around her shoulders. There was the briefest hesitation. A resistance where Jackie contemplated if she would let this happen. It didn't take her long to arrive at her conclusion. She would allow it.

In a single movement, he pulled her to him and folded her into his embrace. Jackie shifted her weight, curling up into him and relaxing against his chest only to feel the slightest tremble within his own body. It was too much to bear so she clung to him and wept in his arms because there were no words to ease their pain.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a while and loosened his hold on her to run his thumbs across her cheeks.

"Yeah," she didn't doubt him but she also wasn't blind to fact that he didn't control their fates anymore, "me too."

There were choices to be made and she'd sowed her seeds, chose her path. She didn't regret what she had done; she would do it again without hesitation. In the end, though, there was a price to be paid for her transgressions and it just might cost her own life.


	2. Moving Forward

_I'm broken when I'm open_  
 _And I don't feel like I am strong enough_  
 _'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome_  
 _And I don't feel right when you're gone away_

 _-Broken, Seether__

Danse had long since abandoned his post beside her, but Jackie remained, slumped against the wall. The bunker was cold and damp with a mist that saturated the room. It clung, suspended in the air, and collected on the skin like dew at morning's first light. Slick with condensation, the walls wept with the tragedy that had transpired here. Bleak, dull grays blurred together with the cool stone and concrete that framed this dungeon within the ground.

Buried beneath the broken earth, this pit contained a man, reduced to rubble because a single phrase told him he no longer held the right to life. Forced him to believe he was less than human. Brought into this world an object - a machine.

Within this pit, a woman was concealed as well. A woman who had once held steadfast to her ideals, but now crumbled beneath the consequences of those same ideals. Flayed for holding her ground and remaining true to what she perceived as right and wrong. Except now she wasn't so sure if she was right. Or had she been wrong all along? Buried beneath the weight of her improprieties, she was losing herself to the internal struggle.

Decades had passed, untouched by time, down here in this hole. Mold and mildew grew, dust and filth choked out the oxygen and stamped out the chance for survival here. Yet two beings remained unearthed in the ground. Scraping the pieces together, trying to live in a world they didn't belong, attempting to continue and move forward with what little dignity they had left.

Jackie watched from behind the safety of her knees as Danse roamed about the space, igniting the fire and attempting to jump start the heartbeat of life with the inconsequential warmth that sputtered from the stove. The fire was stoked, water boiled, and their meager provisions thrown into a pot to make a grisly stew that could laughably be called food.

How long had it been since he had maintained these duties to sustain life in this place that was inhospitable for life to occur. Despite his neglect for himself, Danse seemed content to let the survival instinct take seed, if only for her benefit. He would make an attempt for her. To take care of her and ensure that she didn't die down here.

He approached with slop in hand and Jackie watched through the slits of her eyes, bloodshot and watery, but with nothing left to give. Provided only with the peripheral around her knees, his boots appeared beside her. Slowly, carefully her eyes climbed his withering form. Only to be met by the listless, lackluster expression that haunted his hollow features since her return.

The once sturdy man, stock with lithe muscles beneath taught skin, the touchstone for fighting fit, now wasted away. With his obvious neglect for his own self-care, Danse had lost a considerable amount of body mass. His clothes fit loosely on his haggard frame when once his bulk stretched the seams of his t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were blank, revealing the emptiness contained within his soul. The sheen of his dark hair lost to the mop that now hung in his eyes and his beard a scraggly mess of unkempt strands. It seemed he had decided that he himself was no longer worth the effort of self-preservation.

That was her fault. Danse had needed her and she had abandoned him, betrayed him, and he had failed to continue thriving in the wake of her broken promise. But who was she to judge? Jackie's unwilling return to the Brotherhood had caused her own decline.

The bowl was thrust towards her. "Eat," Danse commanded and despite herself she almost laughed. Did he really think he held any control over her anymore?

Jackie squeezed her knees into her chest, "Why?" Her muffled voice, barely a whisper, rose from her hiding place.

Her eyes pressed into her joints only hearing as he shuffled in frustration, "Jacqueline you need to eat."

 _Jacqueline._ Scolded for her insubordination with the use of her full name.

"And what about you?" Her eyes peeked above the safety of her knees to capture fully the extent of his deterioration. What gave him the right to decide that her life held more value than his own?

With a sigh, he set down the bowl beside her. Heavy steps marked his retreat to the stove. A clink and a clack and a moment later, Danse returned with a second bowl in hand. He reached out his hand, finding stability in the floor below, as he slid down the wall to join her.

"You'll eat if I do?"

Apparently he had learned it was fruitless to argue. Arguing would only serve for them to go round and round, debating the meaning of life. Only to end in anger and frustration while their provisions grew cold.

Jackie conceded with a nod and watched as he sucked down the white flag of their peace agreement.

The contents of her own bowl appeared colorless, odorless, completely unappealing. It wasn't that the food was inedible, it was that chewing and swallowing and _eating_ required entirely too much effort. More effort than she was willing to give and it seemed that it was an utter waste of time. Yet, she forced herself to chew and swallow and choke it down nonetheless until there was nothing left but the bottom of the bowl.

When she finished, Jackie tilted the bowl, upturning it so Danse could see she had made good on her promise. He did the same as he stood to collect the dishes and the corners of her mouth even rose slightly at the gesture. Their goal accomplished, he set about the room, cleaning up and making preparations to wind down for the night.

Still hunched upon the ground, Jackie watched his apathetic movements. Painfully slow, methodical, just going through the motions. It seemed her neglect had taken everything Danse had left.

Jackie had no right to ask, but she didn't know where else to go. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

Uncertainty ground in her gut as Danse glanced up from his menial chores. Perhaps the request was too much to ask.

"I thought that's why you came here." Confusion stole across his face as he put up the last of the dishes.

Jackie had come to tell him of her betrayal and expected him to react accordingly. Throw her out by her coattails, hang her out to dry, or worse, turn his back on her and call her a liar. She wouldn't have complied with Maxson's demands if she hadn't wanted it.

"I…" she hesitated. Despite what she had done, she desperately yearned for his comfort, yet she was terrified he would come to his senses and leave her, "...understand if you don't want me to."

He approached and pulled her to her feet. "You're not unwelcome here Jacqs." The fine lines around his big brown eyes grew longer with the warmth of the smile that spread across his face. "This doesn't change how I feel about you. You are free to come and go as you please."

As she peered up into those endless pools of brown, she was met with kindness and compassion, understanding that mirrored Danse's words that nothing had changed. Despite his devotion to her though, Jackie knew deep down, the reality was _everything_ had changed. Some of her anxiety released with his response but the impact of the events from the last few days were catching up to her and Jackie was exhausted from everything she'd been forced to endure. The last few weeks had done wonders to whittle away her sanity. She had remained endlessly busy so she wouldn't have to think or feel or comprehend the gravity of her recently acquired _duties_.

Jackie took solace in Danse's continued affection but she couldn't remember the last time she had slept. "I'm tired," she pulled at his hands still joined with hers, "let's go to bed."

Sleep meant rest, which led to thinking and dreaming and as of late, that just couldn't be allowed. If she allowed herself the luxury of independent thought, the consequences of her decisions would gnaw at her until she found herself staring down the barrel of her pistol. Jackie feared what lurked beyond the veil of consciousness, though perhaps with Danse by her side he would stave off her demons that lie in wait.

Except when she attempted to pull him along, she was met with unyielding resistance. Danse stood stiff, a mighty oak rooted before her. Jackie's heart sputtered a painful rhythm; she had crossed the line. She was being allowed to stay but whatever intimacy had been building between them had burned away with her betrayal.

The devastation must have been evident on her face because Danse shuffled closer to clarify his intent, "I…just don't want you to feel as if this is expected."

He was too good for her, concerned only about how the physical contact and implications of _sleeping_ together would affect her already fragile mental state. Jackie however, was a selfish woman. As much as the guilt threatened to bury her, she would greedily take what was being offered because she desperately needed to feel close to him. To pretend that maybe he still cared despite what she had done.

"I don't."

Danse searched her face for any sign of forced compliance before relaxing and agreeing, "Alright."

He gave her hand a squeeze and went to flick off the overhead lights as Jackie perched herself on the edge of the tattered bed he had dragged in from the other room. At least it beat sleeping on the floor.

Jackie chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at the floor and when Danse came to join her, the mattress squeaked its protest beneath his weight. Should she tell him? She supposed he deserved to know her current status. Full disclosure in a last attempt to allow him to change his mind, "I'm AWOL right now."

"Jackie," Danse pressed his fingers to her chin, turning her face so she could see the seriousness in his eyes, "Maxson will come for you."

There was no argument. She knew this to be true and she twisted her hands together, an outward expression of the uncomfortable feeling rising in her belly. Danse's accusing eyes weren't helping to ease her nervousness either.

"We both know what will happen if he finds you here." If she didn't know him better, she would have thought that in the soft undertones of his voice, Danse was asking if this was what she wanted.

The answer? She didn't know. Maybe that fate wouldn't be so bad, but who was she to decide that for Danse? She'd already done that once and look where it got her. Grasping for life in a pit in the ground with a man who believed he was a machine, while the high and mighty thirsted for their blood.

"I know," she sighed and squeezed her hands tighter, "but not right away."

Jackie liked to think she understood the man who would lead a witch hunt for their lynching if she didn't return. For once, she had respected this man, had comradery with him and put her trust in his words. But now it was a forced cooperation to keep the man she loved safe and on the right side of the gun of Maxson's gun.

"He'll wait." Jackie assured. "A day, maybe two. There…" she hesitated before dropping her gaze, "was an incident."

"An incident?" Danse folded his arms across his chest and Jackie could feel the scrutiny of his eyes.

"Y-yeah," her voice shook and moisture gathered in her eyes, "it...it's not a big deal."

"Jackie-"

"Please, Danse," she shook her head, "Not now."

The reminder of what had happened at the church and later, what Maxson had done to her behind closed doors was entirely too much to process at the moment. The bruises around her neck barely scratched the surface of her injuries and she could only hope that the long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants she wore would keep the painful marks that littered her body hidden. With any luck they would at least prevent Danse from asking questions and doing something stupid in turn.

She could see in the way he looked at her, that Danse wanted to question, find out exactly what had happened. For the sake of her sanity though, he let it go.

"Maxson," the least she could do was provide him a meager explanation, "he's testing me to see where my loyalties lie. To see if I'll return on my own accord."

Sympathy, however, didn't stop Danse from asking the burning question, "Will you?"

Again Jackie didn't have an answer. Instincts told her not to go back. It was a trap, so why should she return? But if she remained here it would mean their fates were sealed. Then again, she figured her fate was sealed either way. How long she could live like this? And if Maxson didn't kill her himself, she knew she would eventually decide that a long walk off a short forecastle would do the trick just fine.

She swallowed her misgivings for now and shifted to meet his eyes, pleading with his muddy browns, "Can we just get through tonight?"

With heaviness upon his brow, Danse nodded his agreement and slipped between the sheets. His hand tugged at her shoulder, beckoning her to come to bed with him. Jackie complied without resistance and his arms wrapped her up, pulling her into the solid warmth of his body. She settled her head against his chest and slipped her hand beneath his shirt.

As she closed her eyes, some of the built up tension within her eased with the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. Perhaps it was because she wasn't brought up in the horrors of this world, but she couldn't comprehend how this man, this living breathing man, who lie beside her could view himself as anything less than human.

Despite what he had been conditioned to think and what what the Brotherhood liked to turn a blind eye to, Danse had been made human. Just like her. Just like Maxson. Just like every other man, woman, and Gen3 synth in the wasteland.

Jackie pulled her hand away and tugged at his shirt, "Take this off."

He obeyed and she shifted so he could pull the garment over his head. A soft sigh of contentment escaped her as she rolled back against him.

"I've missed you." He admitted and Jackie didn't miss the unspoken, _I thought you weren't coming back_. His hand pressed against the small f her back while the other threaded through her hair before his fingers trailed along the line of her jaw.

She hummed at the much needed contact of his skin against her face and nuzzled closer, "God I've missed you too."

It felt so goddamn good to be close to him again. To be cared for and wanted for more than just a means to an end. Jackie thought for sure she would be burned alive at the heat stirring in her belly and beating through her blood. She had forgotten what this felt like…to be loved. How her skin tingled at his touch and the gentle press of his lips against her forehead. How her cheeks flushed and emotions welled in her eyes at the overwhelming feeling of intimacy that his nearness brought.

Jackie draped her arm across his naked chest and let her head relax against his shoulder as she pressed her lips just below his collarbone. Danse cradled her against his body, holding her close and allowing her to take refuge in the gentle comfort of his touch.

For a moment they remained like that, legs and arms intertwined. They basked in the heat of each other's body and relished in the strength of their bonds of companionship knitting together once more.

After a while, Jackie shifted and rubbed her nose against his jaw, anxiety needling away at her mind. "You're not gonna leave me?" she mumbled, retreating into the crook of his neck, afraid to see his response.

"Jacqs, where would I go?" his hand caressed her cheek and he tilted her chin towards him, tenderly pressing his lips to hers. The tips of their noses touched as Danse leaned his forehead against hers, "I am nothing without you."

The tips of his fingers softly traced down her neck and along the angular line of her body, his hand coming to settle on the curve of her hip. For all the things she felt for this man, there was sadness behind it all because she knew, as long as Maxson commanded the Commonwealth, she would never be able to be with Danse properly.

If she could, Jackie would give it all up, just to never leave his side again. Even if it meant living out her days in this decrepit bunker. She would trade the world to spend a lifetime with Danse, but she supposed she already sold her soul to no avail.

Jackie untangled herself enough to see his face, watch his eyes, "If I left, if we ran, do you think he would come for us?"

Sadness spread across Danse's features, "He would never stop looking," and she could see the hopelessness in his brown eyes as his expression fell. "Maxson would tear down the sky just to get you back."

"What if…" she paused, again she had no right to ask. Perhaps though, she had lost the will to continue living. It was the emptiness and sense of utter loss that clawed around inside her and sank its teeth into the soft flesh of her heart that willed her down the dark path. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it. Jackie had convinced Danse before to abandon the act, now the game had changed and maybe she could talk him into taking up arms with her. Completion. Together.

"...we just ended it."

"Jacqueline…" there were no words to ease the heartache, so instead he pulled her closer, "tell me what to do." He spoke in desperate tones, "How can I fix this?"

She shrugged, resting her head against his chest once again and accepted her fate, "There's nothing you can do."

Content for now, to let the warmth of his skin and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear lull her into a false sense of security. As long as the King remained in his castle in the sky, they would never be safe again.

No words were spoken after that. Only the silent understanding that they were sinners condemned to live with the consequences of their betrayal.

* * *

Morning had come, or what she perceived as morning. There was no way to tell for sure. Down here time had a way of folding in on itself. Passing slower than on the surface, like the continuum ceased to exist in this hellhole. One could sit in solid isolation for days. Never eating. Never sleeping. Never breathing. And it would seem that mere seconds had passed when in reality a lifetime had come and gone.

Something had stirred her consciousness and roused her from the dreamless sleep. A noise? The darkness itself? Movement from her companion in his slumber…? Jackie reached out her hand to grasp at nothing but air.

"Danse...?" she mumbled, realising it was the cold emptiness of nothing beside her that had woken her.

 _No._

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs and she gasped for air as the oxygen left her lungs. The prickly, creepy crawly sensation spread in her chest, panic flooding her senses. Her hands desperately searched the sheets, but she came up empty handed. Nothing.

Danse was gone.

Jackie willed herself upright, to slow down and take mindful breaths. Not to default to the assumption that he had left her.

"Danse?!" she called out to him and strained her ears to receive his response. Only silence and the steady drip of water leaking through the crumbling structure greeted her ears and her fears were confirmed.

He had left.

The darkness robbed her of her composure as she stumbled around groping for the lights. She was a fool to think he would stay. Finally her fingers found solace and she flipped the switch. Light illuminated every corner of the dilapidated room. Her head spun and her previous night's meal threatened to make a reappearance on the floor. Dizzy and uncoordinated, she lurched forward with barely enough time to catch her knees in her hands before tumbling to concrete floor.

 _Breathe. Just breathe._ She reminded herself and after a moment of, _in through the nose, out through the mouth,_ Jackie regained her bearings enough to look up and scan the room for any clues of Danse's whereabouts. Her eyes caught in the corner where only one figure loomed a menacing stance.

The armor. The Paladin armor. _Her_ armor. Gone.

And suddenly the pieces clicked into place… _Shit!_

Now she panicked for an entirely different reason. Her gut flipped and her blood ran cold at the horrible realization of what had happened.

Danse had left, but he hadn't left _her._ He had gone to make amends, to put action behind his words. He was going to right her wrongs, going to end up on the wrong side of an army of laser rifles, gunning for a bullet between his eyes. A bullet lodged in his brain, already marked for his death.


	3. The Road to Righteousness

_"Well hold on, my darling_  
 _This mess was yours,_  
 _Now your mess is mine"_

 _-Mess is Mine, Vance Joy-_

Five minutes.

That's all the time she allowed herself to waste. To crumple to the floor and succumb to the utter and all-consuming panic. Her hands clutched at her ribs, nails digging into her sides as she heaved and screamed and cried. Overwhelmed by the reality that Danse was likely already dead.

Her world blurred and the bleak walls of the bunker came crashing down on her. Pinned beneath the weight of her hysteria, she retched and choked on bile. For a fleeting, desperate moment, she entertained the idea of breathing in and letting herself asphyxiate on the filth in her mouth.

 _Breathe, just breathe._

Her mind eased her racing thoughts. Slowly the room stilled and she was left a pathetic mess, weeping on the floor and drowning in self-loathing. This was selfish, a waste of time and above all else, it was not about her.

With the reminder that Danse's life was dependent on every second she wasted, Jackie pushed herself to her feet and urged her limbs to stumble through the irrational haze. She staggered across the room, aimlessly groping for a plan, and dragged a dirty sleeve across her face. Except it only furthered her dilapidated state by smudging her cheeks with grime.

 _Don't forget to breathe. Mindful breaths._

It had been years since Jackie had struggled with anxiety so intense that it triggered panic attacks. But waking up in that goddamn vault had brought about a new kind of hell for her mind to wander in. Often in the months before joining the Brotherhood, she had found herself pressed into a dark corner, stricken with fear, unable to move or breathe or think. Terrified that some horrible creature or the perversions of man that called themselves human beings would find her and she would die alone and forgotten in this shithole.

Once she started traveling with Danse, she had been able to keep her anxieties at bay for a time. He reminded her of Nate and despite the heartache it brought her, Jackie didn't feel so vulnerable in Danse's presence. A sense of normalcy had begun to return and with each passing day she reclaimed a piece of her sanity.

As much as she tried, she couldn't keep her demons stuffed away forever though. On a frostbitten night in midwinter, they had stopped to set up camp, hunkering down in a crumbling building for the evening. That night, Jackie had awoken in a panic. She'd jolted awake, cold sweat trickling down her back, convinced that this was the end.

 _"Danse?" she called out to him, hearing only faint rustling from somewhere beyond the shadows in return. She clenched her sleeping bag in her hands, her heart hammering away in her chest. "Danse!" again she cried his name only for the rustling to crescendo into horrid hissing and screeching._

 _She desperately groped around for her weapon, her Pip-Boy, anything to help fend off whatever was lurking in the darkness, except she came up empty handed. This was it. She was going to die, torn apart by some wretched wasteland creature, feasting on her innards as she screamed in vain._

 _Suddenly loud crashing and the sounds of grinding metal filled the air._

 _"Soldier?" It came out forceful and frantic as Danse clanked through the room, "What is it? What's the matter?"_

 _"I don't know!" Jackie panted, unable to catch her breath, "I don't know! I can't breathe!" The panic threatened to strangle her and she shook with the pounding of her heart. "Something's wrong!"_

 _Unable to control her racing thoughts, Jackie was convinced she would hyperventilate, or at the very least, die of embarrassment. She pressed her face into her hands, attempting to conceal her shameful state and regain some semblance of control._

 _"You're alright."_

 _She nearly leapt out of her skin at Danse's hand on her shoulder and his voice in her ear. So consumed by her irrational fear, she hadn't even heard him exit his power armor. It stood a menacing stance at the edge of the shadows and Danse... Danse was so near that Jackie was suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions she'd been trying so hard to bury since leaving the vault. All the pain and heartache, her insurmountable grief, leaked from the little box she'd haphazardly stuffed them away in._

 _"It's not real, you're safe. It'll pass, just breathe."_

 _Danse had taken a knee beside her and his grip, firm on her shoulder, moored her to reality. At least until she met his gaze and those heartbreakingly familiar brown eyes shattered her sanity. It took everything in her not to clamber into his arms and weep away her troubles. Instead Jackie clutched at his uniform and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the haunting reminder and hold back the tears caught just behind her lids._

 _Nate...she missed him so goddamn much it hurt. But Danse...right now, Danse would have to do. She let his soft, calming words sooth her aching heart and slowly the panic subsided. Left with only an echo, Jackie's hands fall into her lap. Broken and hollow, she grasped at the ghosts of her former life splintering in the parallels of her mind._

 _"I'm sorry," she muttered and pawed at her face, wiping at tears or the flush of shame she didn't know._

 _"This is common among soldiers." His hand lingered on her shoulder, a gentle reminder that despite her madness Danse still had her back. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."_

 _Jackie just stared at her hands. There was sadness in Danse's voice, a resonance of understanding that made her wonder about his own mental state. She wasn't blind. She'd seen how he struggled. How he kept himself endlessly busy, avoiding sleep or rest so he didn't have to confront his demons. Danse carried the weight of the wasteland on his shoulders and clearly he cared about her. He was a tough nut to crack, but underneath it all he was kind: a good man._

 _All Jackie had done since enlisting was repay his kindness in cruelty. She had been insubordinate at best and nothing short of a cold-hearted bitch at worst._

 _"I haven't treated you fairly," she admitted, "I've been angry and so caught up in myself. You..." she nervously wrung her hands together as she trailed off. "You were an easy target."_

 _Danse shifted to lean his elbow on his knee. "Sometimes trauma makes us do things we aren't proud of."_

 _"Doesn't give me the right to be nasty." She glanced over at him and was met with the faintest of smiles._

 _"Is that an apology I hear, soldier?"_

 _"I-ah…," she tittered to herself, "yeah, I suppose it is."_

 _Danse continued to grin and he knocked his shoulder against hers, "I appreciate the sentiment."_

 _She leaned into him, wishing he could give her so much more than just fleeting touches. "Thanks," she muttered and pulled away before her emotions got the better of her again. "I can take watch if you want."_

 _"Negative," his fingers brushed against her shoulder as he stood to retreat back to his armor, waiting until he was safely encased inside before continuing, "but you can sit with me if you'd like."_

Jackie's chest ached thinking about that moment. What if she never saw Danse alive again? The realization halted her advance across the room. Danse…he was the only thing worth fighting for in this world, the only thing that kept her breathing. He was her lifeblood and if he died at the hands of the Brotherhood for her foolish, _selfish_ mistakes, they might as well kill her too.

This was her fault. She should have done more, fought harder, told Maxson where could shove it and walked away. Should have run and never looked back. Taken Danse somewhere far away. Somewhere near the sea where they could watch the sunrise and hear the waves crashing upon the sand. Leave it all behind and allow the Commonwealth fall to its own demises. But Jackie had been broken. Gutted and left to bleed, too scared to retaliate or flee and worse, too afraid to say no. Now she would atone for her sins in fear and blood.

The cycle of panic threatened to repeat itself but someone had once told her that, ' _courage was not the absence of fear, rather the knowledge that something else was more important than fear_.' Danse was more important than her irrational mind. If she had any hope of saving him, she needed to take action.

Fear still rattled her bones, scratching at her skill like the parasite it was, but Jackie pushed herself forward. She forced her feet to carry her across the room to where she had dumped her duffle bag the night before. Hastily she stripped of her soiled clothes and plucked a clean uniform from her pack, dressing with little regard to her personal appearance.

Unkempt and unhinged, it would have to do. _She_ would have to do.

With a sigh and a final glance around the room she jabbed the elevator call button, pacing and trying to formulate a plan while she waited for its decent. A plan that didn't involve her solo assault of the Brotherhood stronghold or the very real possibility that she would be forced to murder their Elder.

 _Shit._

Jackie stumbled to a stop, staggered by the consequences of Danse's actions. If she wanted him to come out of this alive, she was going to have to bring down the Brotherhood - alone. If by some stroke of dumb luck she was successful, then what? The Commonwealth would crumble at the sudden power vacuum.

 _Dammit Danse!_

The door to the elevator clanged open and Jackie was left standing there, messaging her forehead between her fingers. She didn't know what the _hell_ she was going to do but she slung her duffle bag over her shoulder and snatched up her rifle nonetheless. She would make it up as she went and hope to whatever gods were still listening that they didn't end up dead.

The elevator made an agonizingly slow ascent to the surface and Jackie prayed that she was wrong. She hoped that Danse had just gone to patrol the perimeter or ventured to a nearby settlement for supplies and he would be waiting for her in the vestibule of the bunker. If only she could be so lucky.

When the elevator finally rattled to a halt, Jackie was greeted with darkness. Quiet and empty, midsummer twilight hung in the sky beyond the open door. Her heart skipped a stuttering beat at the sight. This was good. In the cover of night and concealed in her armor, perhaps Danse was still alive. Kept safe in the guise of a much-coveted Brotherhood paladin set on a warpath to bring them to their knees, burn them to the ground for betraying not only himself but the woman he had devote his life to.

The irony nearly had her smirking, except she was reminded that they were likely both going to wind up dead before this was all over.

Jackie made her way out into the desolate wasteland and rooted around in her bag, searching for the signal grenade she had stashed away in case of emergency. The sun pushed the envelope of dawn painting the skyline in faint wisps of pink and orange. It lazily eclipsed the deep blues and black of night as she walked out into the open, heading east to the unofficial extraction point.

It was the quiet of the wasteland that unnerved Jackie as she walked. Here silence didn't necessarily mean safety and she had spent the entirety of her life before the war surrounded by constant background noise. The world never stopped, even in the dead of night, there was never true silence. Now her surroundings were deceptively quiet, peaceful even, and it unsettled her.

It didn't take long to reach the designated location, a vacant stretch of broken road behind the old ironworks factory. She threw down the signal grenade and watched as the plume of smoke circled up into the air. Not so patiently she waited for the distant hum of the vertibird's engines to break the silence.

The sun breached the horizon and with it brought the feeling of failure. Not once had she bothered to check in with Danse last night to assess his own mental state. His deteriorating physical health had been an obvious sign of his instability, yet Jackie had failed to acknowledge it. Instead, she burdened him with her insignificant troubles. She'd neglected to reciprocate his kindness and allow him to voice the complexities and emotionality of his internal conflict, and look where it had gotten her.

She had promised to be there for him, help him heal, and secretly she had vowed to love him. Then in the face of hardship, she'd abandoned him. Jackie couldn't breathe and before she could stop it, tears were leaking down her cheeks. She had betrayed him when he had needed her the most.

The crippling intensity of her guilt sliced at her underbelly, threatening to tear her open and spill her guts upon the pavement. It would have been better, easier for them both, if she had just endured the pain of letting Danse go. Allowed him to move on and live out his days in peace. After everything he'd been though, he at least deserved that much. In the end, Jackie had let her self-serving desires get the better of her. Now, it no longer mattered, she would be forced to pay it forward, with her life and his.

The ground groaned beneath her feet as she paced in an attempt to occupy her mind and halt the hemorrhaging of her spiraling thoughts. Bile rose in her throat and she commanded her body to be still, but she lost the battle and just barely caught her knees in her hands as she retched and stumbled forward.

The pooling sick a reflection of the disease that festered within her. It disgusted her how far she had fallen, the things she had done, people she'd killed, monsters she'd made. Jackie didn't deserve this life and she clung to the shards of humanity that still resided within her.

Her urge to vomit again was quelled just in time to hear the familiar whirl of a vertibird's engines approaching. Earth and grass were whipped about and dirt was violently kicked up with the aircraft's landing decent. Jackie covered her face with her arms, attempting to shield herself from the dust storm. Despite the sickening feeling that still lingered, she hoisted herself up into the 'bird as soon as the landing gear made contact with the ground.

A familiar face, clad in aviators and arrogance, greeted her as she clambered inside. It was always the same Lancer who picked her up. The same pilot who had run transport for Danse and his team and who had taken Maxson to the bunker. He was the only one authorized for extraction from this location and even though words had never been exchanged, Jackie knew he knew and she wondered what price he had paid to keep their secret.

He handed her a headset as she scooted by to sit into the co-pilot's seat, the roar of the engines was drown out when she slipped it on.

"Paladin," His voice crackled through the earpiece, followed by terse nod and a salute.

"Geers." Jackie returned the gesture out of habit.

For a moment Geers watched her, taking in her obviously disheveled state, but chose not to comment, "Ma'am, you've been given orders to report to the Command Deck immediately upon arrival."

"Wonderful," she scowled, "who did I piss on this time to be owed the pleasure?"

A knowing look passed between them before he spoke, "The Elder knows where you go when you disappear."

Jackie said nothing and stared at her feet, the knots in her stomach twisting tighter.

Geers allowed the void of conversation stretch on before he added, "Maxson thought you weren't coming back this time."

And there is was, the painful reminder of her violation.

"Yeah, that was the plan..." She could feel his eyes on her, pitying her, questioning her.

"So why did you?" he dared to ask.

 _None of your goddamn business._

Jackie wanted to snap at him. Put him in his place and maintain the distance that was held within the chain of command, but she bit her tongue because it was rude and Geers was one of the few people she could still trust – her friend.

She twisted her hands together and mused her bottom lip. Should she tell him the truth? The truth would likely get him killed so Jackie decided on a half-truth. "There's been a recent development that requires my immediate attention back on the Prydwen."

Static hissed in coms while Geers watched her with a frown hovering upon his brow. "You told him about Maxson...didn't you?" he pressed her with the demand and sharp angel of his eyes when she didn't immediately respond. "Jackie-"

"Just take me back." It wasn't a request, she was done playing games. Every second she spent dicking around with Geers put Danse at risk, they needed to leave – _now_.

Geers cursed under his breath and Jackie could hear the eyeroll as he turned back to jab at the instrumentation panel.

"Whiskey, golf, echo, seven, this is Lancer-Knight Geers en route to the Prywden."

Static droned in her ears, her stomach lurching when he abruptly jerked the stick the get them in the air.

"Acknowledged, what's your status Lancer?" the voice on the other end asked.

"I've got movement. Delta November inbound. Juliet Charlie," Geers glanced over at her, looking more smug than ever, "secure. Give the order."

More static and then finally air traffic control came back, "Roger that. You've been cleared for landing in bay two upon your arrival.

"Roger out." Geers responded and flipped a switch, cutting out the static.

"What was that about?" Jackie wasn't sure she liked what she just heard.

"You aren't the only one with secrets." There was that look again. Whatever Geers had been up to, he was damn proud of himself.

If Jackie didn't know any better she would say this reeked of mutiny. "I don't like this," she frowned and shook her head.

"Too bad, sister. You gave up control when you climbed in my aircraft." Geers pulled down his sunglass just enough to wink at her like some crazed junkie. "Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."

God, she wanted to smack that stupid grin right off his face. Though, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. All she could do was close her eyes and hope that whatever half-baked plan Geers had cooked up didn't get them all killed.


	4. Vengeance

As they approached the Prydwen, Jackie's anxiety increased. She fidgeted in her seat and a tremor shook her leg. The uneasy, sickly feeling in her gut only intensified the closer they got. A tense, numbness seeped through her skin and settled into her muscles as she ground her teeth together.

Her dishwater blond hair, like the gritty sand on the ocean shore, escaped from her bun and whipped in her face while she tried to focus on the task at hand. As the airship drew closer, Jackie had no way of knowing what awaited her aboard. Geers had been given permission to dock without incident or question, a good sign, but uncertainty was chewing away at her nerves and sound judgement. Scenarios played out in her mind, but all of them ended badly, she didn't know how they would make it out of this unscathed.

The Prydwen loomed ahead as they made their final landing approach. The now rising sun reflected off the steel exterior of the starboard side like a giant, glittering mirror. The intense light blinded her and she rubbed her mismatched eyes. Danse had stared for an entire minute when she had first appeared in the courtyard of the police station. As if she was some anomaly in a roadside freak show. She had been born with blue eyes, but had suffered a rare eye condition in childhood that nearly blinded her and caused the darkening of the brown pigment in her right iris.

At first, when Danse had given Jackie the order that they were to join Maxson on the Prydwen, she had adamantly refused to go. Saying that she wasn't going to fall victim to a massive fireball in the sky. Because the Hindenburg had worked out so well before.

The former Paladin demanded, ordered and made all kinds of threats, even told her she would be tried for desertion if she just up and quit. Jackie respectfully gave him the one finger salute and told him to go fuck himself for all she cared. She wasn't getting on that floating balloon disguised as a ticking hydrogen bomb. Jackie made it about halfway to the door before Danse effortlessly hauled her over his shoulder and dragged her, kicking and screaming and making right scene of herself up to the roof of the police station.

When they made it to the rooftop, Danse tossed her in the vertibird and reprimanded her for her undignified behavior before warning her to watch her mouth and get control of herself before they docked. There would be consequence if she embarrassed him. Jackie just cursed and continued her shouting. What was he going to do? Throw her overboard?

Jackie yelled and cursed and insulted Danse's linage the entire flight. Upon their arrival, her outburst continued, so Danse slung her over his shoulder again and dumped her at Kells' feet, saying she was his problem now before storming off. She shut up real quick when the Lancer-Captin yanked her up by the collar of her jumpsuit and raked her over the coals for her unprofessional conduct. Danse didn't scare her, she had become accustomed to that scowl by now, but she was quite certain that Kells would make good on his promise to toss her over the railing if she didn't straighten up and fall in line.

After careful review of the airship's schematics and blueprints, Jackie had begrudgingly agreed to continue operating from the zeppelin. Against her better judgement, she even made her bed here now and dared to call it home.

The jolt of the vertibird docking knocked Jackie back to reality. She stood and warily slid out of the aircraft, her boots unceremoniously hitting the deck. Docked in the bay across from them, sat the vertibird that ran the shuttle between the Prydwen and airport. The Lancer on duty roamed the decks and Jackie didn't miss the strange look the pilot gave her.

It only fueled the uneasiness and the growing tightness in her chest. She didn't like this.

The clang of metal against metal drew Jackie's attention to the door that held the gateway to the bowels of the ship. Someone had just breached the hull. Slow and steady. One foot in front of the other, she made her way along the deck. The tightly wound knot in her belly urged her run after whoever entered before her, but she forced herself to walk.

Jackie moved with a sense of urgency across the deck and up the stairs towards the door. As she reached for the handle, her heart clenched up when she saw the Knight standing guard do a double take. However, the door was flung open in haste and slammed shut behind her before the Knight could question her.

Air rushed against her from the open door and change in pressure as she stepped on to the bridge. She could see through the open space and slats in the rungs of the ladder, Maxson stood with his back towards her, gazing out through the bay of windows upon the ruins of Boston.

The Commonwealth was but a ghost of the once vibrant city. Ruined buildings jutted into the sky like eerie, hollow specters, reaching their claws to tear a hole in the heavens above. Trying to spill the grit and filth of the crimes of man upon the broken earth below. The soil had been cleansed with nuclear fire, but still the earth wept and mankind burned for the sins of their fathers. There would be no atonement, only hell and fire and blood. Death and the wasteland that devoured the living for unleashing hell's demons upon the earth.

Crossing the threshold of the Command Deck, was an impostor, clad in full Paladin armor.

Jackie cursed under her breath and tried to discreetly move around to the left, hoping to skirt past the Knight on sentry duty. The impostor cleared their throat as they approached the Elder and she pressed herself into the wall separating her from the Command Deck, hoping she wouldn't be seen. Not yet.

However, the discrepancy didn't go unnoticed by the Knight across from her. The soldier glanced from her to the impostor and she signaled for the sentry to hold position.

Movement could be heard, fabric rustling and boots on the ground, as the Elder rounded on the impostor. Each footstep enunciated by the sharp clap of his boots on the steel floor.

"Paladin," Maxson's voice was the calm before the storm, "I heard you were in route."

It made the hairs on the back of Jackie's neck stand on end and she shifted so she could see the exchange but still remain somewhat hidden. The guard across the entry grew restless and luckily Maxson motioned for them to make themselves scarce, but the Knight remained. Even in the armor, Jackie could see the conflict. They knew something wasn't right, but they didn't want to disobey orders from the Paladin or the Elder.

Maxson's face was flat, cold and hard, like the steel that encased his ship. Slowly, methodically he took the last remaining steps to fully confront the impostor. The storm of fury brewed in his eyes and he straightened to his fullest height.

"Where have you been Paladin?" The scathing tone would have made any self-respecting Initiate cower and piss themselves, but the impostor would not be cowed. Maxson pressed his chest against the breastplate of the impostor's armor, ready to unleash his wrath upon supposed Paladin within.

Seconds ticked by agonizingly slow as nothing happened and Maxson waited for a reply. Demanded it with his very presence. As abruptly as the silence began, the impostor jerked into action. In one fluid motion, Danse twisted off his helmet and tossed it to the floor, unholstering his gun and taking stance. He pushed Maxson back with the weight of his body and shoved the muzzle of his rifle against the Elder's chest.

"Elder Maxson," Danse's voice was firm, commanding and Jackie couldn't see his face, but she knew the fierce scowl his brows held. All too often it had been directed at her for her stubbornness, "You have committed crimes against the Brotherhood of Steel and violated the very tenets on which the Brotherhood stands," Despite having no authority here, he spoke with conviction that Jackie had thought long since gone, "I have come to ensure that justice is served for your lawlessness and utter disregard for your fellow man."

Jackie's gut plummeted to the floor and pins and needles, cold as ice, pricked her skin. She pushed out from her hiding place without a second thought, reacting purely on instincts, just like she had at the bunker. Maxson stumbled backwards with wide eyes, having the decency to look genuinely surprised. And... was that fear she saw flash across his features before he could regain control of his steel exterior?

"Danse! No!" Her voice cracked, but her hands were steady as she slung her rifle around and leveled the barrel between Maxson's eyes. For the second time, in recent weeks, she had the scope of her rifle trained on the Elder.

The click of the trigger and the whirl of the barrel of the minigun spinning up echoed like thunder off the steel walls of the ship. Her heart beat violently and her chest heaved as her finger teased the trigger of her own gun. If she was lucky, she could fire off a shot before the Knight could gun her down.

Jackie prepared herself for a hail of bullets and primed herself to pull the trigger, but the hellfire never came. A flash of orange darted passed her… _Geers_? She threw a glance over her shoulder just in time to see him yank the fusion core out of the Knight's armor. The armored soldier's movements ground to a halt and the minigun crashed to the floor as Geers pulled the release. The armor opened without ceremony and he pulled the Knight out by the scruff of her neck.

The soldier jerked and fought against Geers as she struggled to free herself, catching his face with her nails as she groped for purchase to push away from him. He shoved her to her knees and drew his pistol as blood stained his cheek.

"Make the right decision, Knight!" he growled and pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of her head.

"Alright, alright!" she squeaked and acquiesced, throwing up her hands.

Shuffling and stifled shouting could be heard from below at the helm. The noise and commotion from above drawing the crew's attention. Any moment now Kells would be storming up the stairs-

The singeing sting of laser fire cut the air like static electricity following the hot lightning of a warm summer night's storm. The air crackled and popped; the muffled, muted sounds in the atmosphere disorienting her senses.

"I said on your knees!" Jackie's ears were ringing and she couldn't make out who it was, but it sure as hell wasn't Kells.

Soldiers should be pouring in from above and out on the flight deck, but none came. Jackie's body instinctively tensed at the unmistakable clanking thud of power armor being thrust against the door to the flight deck. Someone was using the sheer weight of their suit as a barricade.

"Don't even think about it!" A voice shouted from the opening to the main decks of the ship above, "Back to your racks," Knight-Sergeant Toben? "Now!" he ordered.

For a second, all Jackie could do was just blink and stare with her mouth strung open catching flies, trying to comprehend what the hell just happened.

"You!" Maxson had collected himself enough to round on Danse again with a finger jabbed into his armored chest. "Abomination-"

"Can it Maxson!" Jackie snapped back to reality and swiveled her head around, rifle held at the ready as she inched closer. Her confidence renewed with the knowledge that she had the upper hand. The look of shock, or fear or whatever it was, that had befallen the Elder's face before, had vanished like gunsmoke and had been replaced with unrestrained fury.

So many things were happening at once, but Jackie couldn't help but think back to the strange radio transmission Geers had sent... Had this been planned? Mutiny? Did Danse stage a coup? And why wasn't she in on it? Questions for another time, but Jackie fully intended to interrogate the lot of them if they even survived.

Jackie drew closer until she flanked Danse from the left, standing just behind his armored left shoulder.

Pale eyes darted from Danse to Jackie as Maxson prepared his attack. His eyes narrowed in on Jackie before flicking back to Danse, "Attempting to hijack my ship will not end well for you _synth._ I warned you not to mistake my mercy for acceptance." The face of steel was hardening across his features once more, "You will not be pardoned again. By my own hand, I will execute you properly this time," cold eyes snapped back to Jackie, "Both of you."

She stiffened at his words, a chill chasing down her spine. It was no surprise that they had arrived at this outcome, but she still held out hope that the renegades could hold off an affront long enough for them to escape.

"Tell me, why should I show any leniency?" His hands flexed at his side and there was a twitch at his jaw. Jackie had become accustomed to reading him and knew, more than anyone, that a man lurked behind the wall of steel. She recognized the signs, he didn't want to go down this path, but he believe there was no other road to take. He couldn't let the facade slip. He had to put on a show, maintain his authority or else he would lose control of the entire operation. The Brotherhood torn in two. And Maxson would be the one at the helm, the one responsible, so he kept up the pretense. Kept the ship afloat with blood and fear and fury.

"You will be put to death," Maxson paused for effect, "Immediately."

Before Jackie could open her mouth to respond, to defend them both, Danse quickly cut her off.

"You're unarmed," he stood firm in his conviction, "and judging from the lack soldiers mounting a counter attack, it would appear I still have friends in the Brotherhood." Ever so slightly Danse leaned forward, "It would be in your best interest to _stand down._ "

The face of steel contorted under the heat of his fiery temper. Maxson was beyond pissed. Whether it be because he actually hated Danse or because he was being forced into a corner, Jackie didn't know. His jaw tightened and his brows cinched together, obscuring his blue eyes in a sea of darkness. But he choked down Danse's words with the heaving of his chest and he chewed on the gristle left behind. With tight lips, he carefully chose his response, "Alright synth, I'll play the game. What do you want?"

Being given the go ahead, there was no hesitation when Danse spoke, "In the old world and the new, your crimes would be brought before a tribunal and you would be given fair trial for your indiscretions. You are hereby being accused of the following war crimes and shall be tried accordingly; genocide, ordering no quarter, enlisting child soldiers, pillaging, and..." Danse leaned in closer and shoved his rifle a little harder against Maxson's chest, "Rape."

The last word was hissed through gritted teeth. Danse was unsuccessfully trying to keep his cool, rein in his emotions. Jackie had never seen him so angry. Never seen him act on impulse alone. The heat of shame burned through her and crawled along just under her skin because she had caused this. All of this had been her fault. And now here they were, their lives hanging from a thread, because she still hadn't learned how to shut up and take it. Swallow her pride and except her punishment like a good soldier, to keep the ones she loved safe.

If Maxson was a lesser person he would have stumbled, recoiled from the position he was in, but this was _Elder_ Maxson and he firmly stood his ground.

"I see," Maxson's eyes flashed back to Jackie. The pale irises slid up...and down her body before returning their gaze to Danse. The Elder scoffed with a slight curl of his lips, "You lack the authority to make these claims. And what evidence do you have to support your accusations?"

Jackie felt her face burn and she was about to pull down the collar of her uniform, but Geers spoke from behind her.

"This is a joke, right?" he snarled, "You have squires stationed all over the ship. Time and again you order your soldiers to take no prisoners, total annihilation of the enemy."

The Knight he held in his grasp whined and he gave her a firm shake to shut her up before he continued, "Teagan sends squads to get supplies from local settlements and orders them to use any force necessary. Don't leave empty handed. And…" he scowled at very idea of what he was about to say, "You ordered one of your finest Knights to execute your most respected officer without trial or hesitation. Without mercy." He glanced at Jackie, his face awash of anger, "And your Paladin..." his eyes softened towards her, but the harshness remained in his voice and strung across his brow, "The ship echos, _Elder_."

"This is treason," Maxson eyed them beneath lowered brows, a cool reminder of the treacherous water they were treading in, "There will be no trial, only your deaths."

Geers jerked his head to the quiet, open space in the bridge behind them, "You aren't exactly in a position to make threats."

Maxson held his shield, but Jackie saw the slight twitch at the corn of his mouth, "Do you really think Arthur Maxson, Elder of the east coast division, last of his line, forged from eternal steel, a God amongst men, will stand trial? Or have you forgotten that there was a reason I was put in charge?"

"You are no God, Maxson." Jackie was close enough that her rifle was mere inches from the Elder's face. "You're just a man. A man who likes to think of himself as a king, but lives and breathes and dies. And you will fall, like any other man in this wasteland."

Having heard enough, Danse interceded, "Your crimes are punishable by death," still towering over the Elder with his rifle held at point-blank to his chest.

"Who will carry out the execution?" Narrowed eyes, cold as steel burned up into Danse, "You? A traitor? A machine that thinks it's alive... that thinks it's a man?"

"Danse-" Geers was cut off as Danse nearly shoved Maxson right off his feet.

"Enough!" he roared, "I'm done debating this. Maxson, you will stand trial or I will execute you, _now_."

"No. You won't." There was that curling of his lips again, a challenge, silently daring Danse to do it, "You're weak. A disgrace. Even at the bunker-"

Jackie only saw red and white hot static as she squeezed the trigger. The crack of her gun discharging split the air, leaving them fumbling in hushed, deathly silence once again. Her thoughts were heavy and slow as her brain struggled to catch up with her body's reaction. The glass of the windows before her creaked and cracked from where the bullet had lodged within the pane.

Slowly the fog dissipated and she came back to her senses and all she saw was crimson. A steady stream of blood seeped from the wound in her Elder's face. It was her. Her gun. Her bullet...

 _Fuck!_

What the had she done?


	5. Gunsmoke

_"I know you."_

 _"Jacqs," Those eyes. Dark and warm, like dirt turned to mud after the rain. She knew those eyes, "I am nothing without you."_

 _The wasteland air burned her flesh and the stench of radioactive decay inundated her senses. But if she squinted, and peered through the blurry slats between her eyelids, the soft gray moonlight cast upon the peaks and valleys of the waves, and the moon full and bright, strung high above the moor of the warring sea, was just as beautiful as before._

 _And the stars… Had there always been so many? They filled the night sky from east to west, north to south, the darkness few and far between them. Tiny, glittering pin pricks that unlocked the secrets of the past. Painting the black sky with myth and folklore, legends of times long since passed._

 _"Don't be afraid," That face. She'd seen that face before, it still lingered in her dreams. And she wondered what it would be like to fall. Would the cosmos catch her or would she fall right on through? Just another pin prick, forgotten amongst the stars, lost in the sands of time._

 _Cold metal was pressed into her hand and the barrel raised to push against her temple, "Together?"_

 _She reached out her free hand and rough fingers enclosed around hers, "Together."_

 _She was going home._

 _"Jacqueline… Jackie…"_

"Jackie!"

The trance was broken and the grainy bits and pieces of the hallucination dissolved like salt in her wounds that the tearing of time had inflicted. Ripped apart and haphazardly put back together, left for dead as her lesions wept, bleeding out in the hollow grave of the vault.

Except it wasn't the wasteland that burned her skin, it was the tang of sulphur hovering in the air and gunpowder soaking into her hands and arms. Invisible fingerprints marking her a traitor for what she had done. She was frozen, unable to move, as if she was watching the scene unfold from someone else's eyes. The rifle was slipping from her hands, primed to clatter to the floor.

"Jackie!"

 _Danse._ His voice. Firm. Commanding. The lighthouse beacon guiding her back to shore in the darkness. Helping her navigate the rocky shoals.

 _Don't forget to breathe._

Of course. Her lungs required oxygen to sustain life. With a dizzying sensation, her brain commanded her to breathe in. She opened her mouth and gasped for air and with a jolt, life flooded back into her. It was like a wire pulled taught within her. The tension pushing it passed the breaking point, snapping and releasing the primal beast within.

"I told you to shut your goddamn mouth!" Jackie shoved the barrel of her gun against his forehead.

Maxson stumble, shuffling back slightly, blanching with wide-eyed shock as he slowly brought his fingers to his touch his face. They dragged along the laceration, smearing blood in the dark hair of his beard and along his jaw.

"Y- you shot me…" Maybe it was utter astonishment or the realization that Jackie could have easily killed him, but there was something completely alien leaking through his facade. Betraying the man who operated on impersonalities and brute force. Written clear as day across his face. Something Jackie had witnessed only a handful of times while locked away in his quarters… Weakness. Humanity.

Jackie felt her heart squeeze and a strange tightness rise in her chest. Was that guilt? Did she actually feel guilty for taking a pot shot at him?

No. It had to be regret. Regret for not properly getting the job done and laying him out flat on his back once and for all.

"It's just a flesh wound, you fucking asshole!" The confidence of having an entire army at her back, was giving her permission to let loose her madness. Release her fury for the situation she had been forced into.

Jackie's bullet had grazed along Maxson's jaw and skirted his neck as it whizzed passed him. Blood was oozing down his neck, dark crimson pooling and absorbing in the collar of his jumpsuit. It dripped profusely from the thick hair of his beard and the tip of his chin, staining his battle coat and splattering on the floor as the droplets fell.

Even in her rage, Jackie saw the involuntary twitch of Danse's hands and the momentary hesitation. He wanted to help. Go to the aid of his injured Elder.

The wildfire fizzed and popped the cork as it burned a path for her anger. Jackie tried to get in Maxson's face, press up against him, challenge him, because he had no claim on the former Paladin, but still, old habits die hard. Much to Jackie's dismay, a pigheaded man in a massive metal suit stood in her way.

Even though Jackie had gone in weapons hot and taken a chunk of the Elder's pretty face with her, Danse hadn't moved. He remained steadfast, maintaining his position, and Jackie was quickly becoming a loose cannon.

"Stand down!" he barked as she pushed against him.

"Just," she struggled to get around him, but Danse used his body as a shield, blocking her from her target, "let me get my hands on him…"

"Get your gun out of my face." Maxson snapped as his bloody fingers closed around the barrel of her rifle, attempting to jerk it away.

"I might kill you yet," she growled as she ripped the rifle from his grasp. A trail of sticky fingerprints left behind as she forced the muzzle against his forehead again.

Maxson fumbled backwards slightly and Jackie tried to advance on him, ready to hold his throat hostage under the blade of the knife strapped to her thigh.

But an armored elbow jutted out, blocking her movements, "Paladin!" Her rank fell from Danse's lips and her feet skidded to a halt.

At hearing her rank coming from Danse's mouth, Jackie felt just as surprised as Maxson looked just moments ago. Since her _'promotion'_ Danse hadn't uttered her rank. Not once. They barely even breathed a word of it and Jackie understood. She didn't question, didn't push it. In the weeks leading up to his point, Danse had taken to calling her ' _Jacqs_.' He was the only one who called her that and even though she had never explained the significance of the nickname, she supposed somehow Danse already knew.

"That was an order!" The clip of his deep timbre bounced off the steel walls, "Stand down, soldier!"

For a moment it was as if nothing had changed, like the past weeks had never happened. Danse's command calming her fury, her body reacting, straightening up and falling in line. She was his Knight and she desperately wanted to make her Paladin proud.

"She's not very good at following orders." Jackie caught a glimpse of pale blue and the faint rise of the corner of his mouth as Maxson wet his lips.

"You little shit!" The soothing of Danse's voice was quickly forgotten as fuel was poured on the smoldering embers and the wildfire engulfed her once again.

But it seemed Maxson knew just how to push Danse's buttons because before Jackie could even blink, an armored hand grabbed Maxson by the collar of his battle coat and the Elder was yanked against cold, armored steel. The lack of restraint took Jackie by surprise, and for a moment, she swore Danse was going strangle Maxson with his steel plated hands.

The moment of unbidden outraged quickly passed and instead, metal fingers closed around the front of Maxson's jumpsuit as Danse leaned forward, overshadowing the Elder.

"Listen closely Arthur Maxson," Danse snarled, "If you want to pretend to live like a King in a flying fortress surrounded by Knights and Paladins then this shall be settled accordingly; in battle. Trial by combat."

Maxson puffed out his chest and pushed back with his insufferable arrogance, "And if I refuse?"

Jackie resisted the urge to beat Maxson senseless with the butt of her rifle, just to wipe that smirk off his insolent face. Instead, she pressed the muzzle of the gun against the Elder's temple, "This time I won't miss."

She hadn't missed before either. She just wanted to rattle him up and prove a point, that she wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

Maxson stalled, contemplating his options. Pale eyes passed from Danse to Jackie and back again.

"Decide." Danse growled with a firm shake of his hand.

Jackie inched closer, "Or I'll end you. Now," her hand twitching at the thought of the knife at her thigh.

What would it feel like to press it against Maxson's neck, drag it along the tender, vulnerable flesh of his throat? Would she enjoy the friction of the blade against his skin? Enjoy watching as the blood trickled down from the open wound? She wouldn't kill him, she just wanted to cut him, just a little. She inhaled sharply as she entertained the dark, prickling desire.

"Fine." Jackie's mismatched eyes lingered on the Elder's throat before sliding back up his face. His brow creased and his nostrils flared at his acknowledgement of defeat, "I accept. Tomorrow 0800."

Danse was about to release Maxson but Jackie held up her hand. She wasn't done with the Elder yet, she still had to negotiate their continued safety, "And we won't be killed, gunned down like dogs in the shadows of the airport between now and then?"

"You have my word," Maxson's face was a wall of steel once again

Danse gave a curt nod in agreement and gave the order, "Geers, make the announcement. Everyone is to willfully surrender on Elder Maxson's order and his word that doing so will not garnet retaliation. No one will be harmed."

"Yes, sir," Geers responded and glanced down at the Knight on her knees before him, "Don't be a hero," he hissed at his hostage, "Or the scribes will be cleaning brain matter off the walls and floors."

The Knight grunted and nodded her understanding and slowly, carefully, Geers backed away. Side-stepping until he reached the intercom in the Command Deck.

Geers' voice boomed through the ship, sounding the all clear and as soon as the intercom clicked off, Danse released his grip on the Elder. Maxson shuffled backwards, but quickly regained his balance. Jackie eased away from him letting her rifle fall slack in her hands and she saw Geers eject the cell from his pistol before tossing it to the ground and gesturing for the Knight to resume her post.

Like a firecracker going off, the ship roared to life again. Orders were being snapped out and the thud of boots on the decks was deafening. Kells barked out commands and threatened life and limb upon the Lancers below at the helm.

"March! Up the stairs!" he barked, "NOW!"

The sound of Danse's gun hitting the floor and the hiss of her power armor opening drew Jackie's attention back to the former Paladin.

At first Jackie thought it was another hallucination as Danse climbed out of her armor. Bright blue and gold hugged his body and her heart lerched. Where had he gotten it?

She had only kept one- ... _his._ Stashed away in the bottom drawer of her rotting dresser at her house in Sanctuary. Jackie hadn't brought it to Danse, so how had he gotten it? Had Danse found it? Did he _know_?

Her chest heaved and ached at the sight and she almost said the name, _his name,_ that was on the tip of her tongue, but she refused to let her mouth betray her. Not now. But her legs shook and she felt weak and her knees almost buckled. Her hands finding purchase on thick leather.

Pale eyes stared her down, condemned her before Maxson jerked his arm out her grasp, "Get your hands off me."

It took everything in her to remain upright and not fall to the floor as she watched Danse on his knees, hands in the air, willfully surrendering. His rifle abandoned beside him as the Knight in power armor took back control of the situation. Fully armored and poised behind him, her own gun pressed against the back of Danse's head, threatening to end him if he so much as looked at her wrong.

And Jackie couldn't get the image out of her head, clear skies and air raid sirens, the vault… She felt herself falling, _'It'll be alright._ That voice, _his_ voice.

The shouting of soldiers flooding the Command Deck, like a wave upon the sand, jerked her back to her senses and she tore her eyes away from the dark haired man with the warm, brown eyes on his knees before her, dressed in the vault suit, trading his freedom, his life for hers.

Maxson grabbed Danse's rifle from the floor and took aim, "I should have killed you weeks ago."

"No!" Jackie tried to squeeze between them but there wasn't room and there were hands closing around her arms. Tension riddled her body as the panic took over, "You gave your word!"

Her chest expanded and contracted rapidly as she struggled to get away from the soldiers who held her. She jerk forward, trying to push away, but strong arms increased their grip, holding her back.

Maxson's finger teased the trigger and Danse stared down the barrel of the gun, unflinching and unafraid, prepared to eat laser fire like the soldier he was. Jackie didn't miss the creeping of the corners of the Elder's lips. "Enough," he commanded, his eyes never leaving Danse. Her heart still pounding and her lungs burned, but she willed her body to settle as Maxson stole a glance at her, "Will you be good? Behave yourself?"

Jackie nodded, hating the control Maxson had over her. She would do anything to keep Danse safe and Maxson knew it. Extorted it any chance he got.

Pale eyes staked their claim and ensured that he was in control. "Release her," he ordered and beckoned for Jackie to come forward before motioning for Danse's detainment.

Danse watched with flat affect as she approached her Elder. It was a front and Jackie could see how his body strained against the blue fabric and the war that waged behind his brown eyes. A forced control to keep a lid his emotions so he didn't get them both killed.

What would Maxson have to say about Danse's behavior? A glitch? A malfunction? A fault in his programming? The sickness rose from the pit of her gut at the thought because Maxson was wrong. You couldn't program these visceral reactions. A machine reverts back to its protocols in unknown situations, it doesn't act irrationally, threatening to violate those protocols by doing so.

A machine doesn't have higher levels of cognition and the ability form intimate, emotional attachment strong enough to cause it to make _human_ errors. If synths were machines, programmed for a single purpose they wouldn't resist, they wouldn't defect, they wouldn't violate their protocols. But the problem was, they did all of those things. Because they weren't machines. They were human. Danse was human. The Institute had created human beings. And Maxson was wrong.

"Look at me," Maxson's blood stained fingers closed around her chin as he jerked her gaze away from Danse, "Not that _machine_. You're mine. You belong to me."

Jackie knew that Maxson was putting on a show to get Danse riled up. Apparently it worked because Danse jerked against the hands there were restraining him and Maxson couldn't quite hide the little grin that stole across his lips, "Am I understood?"

Pinned beneath fear and the madness in Maxson's own eyes, "Yes, sir," she answered.

The Elder eased the gun away from Danse's head and slowly his expression shifted, curving up to continue his play at Danse, "Mmm," Maxson released her chin and his fingers caressed her jaw as he defiled her with the flick of his eyes. Violating her with their dark desire. Jackie swallowed, feeling embarrassed by the public shaming and she fought the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes. She refused to let entire crew see he cry, "The things she does for you _synth._ It's-"

Without warning Danse lunged at him and with a flick of the wrist, the stock of the rifle in Maxson's hands connected with the side of Danse's head with a sickening crack. Danse groaned and collapsed on the ground as a sea of soldiers descended upon him.

Jackie tried to grab the rifle from Maxson's hands but he was too quick. His hands enclosed around her wrists and shoved them behind her back, holding her there and pinning her against him. Her cheek slid against the slick fabric of his blood soaked uniform. Warm crimson dripped into her hair and down her face, the heavy, acrid smell of it made her gag and tears escaped through her lashes as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Thoughts of the previous night invaded her mind. Wrapped in the safety of Danse's arms with the promise of protection from the the strength that surrounded her. She desperately wanted to return to the bunker and remain in that moment of quiet comfort. Not this. Anything but this. She didn't want any of this. And above all else, she wished that she had pulled the trigger on herself with Danse by her side when she had first found him down there in that tomb.

But no, she chose the hard way out and now she was suffering. They were both suffering for her selfishness. For her inability to let go.

Jackie could only hear Danse's pained grunts as he struggled to get free from the mass of soldiers that engulfed him.

"Please don't hurt him," A plea whispered against Maxson's chest, she resigned herself to him, as hot tears tracked down her cheeks.

She could feel the settling of his shoulders as he gave the order, "Get that _thing_ off my ship." Perhaps there was still humanity left within him afterall.

In the middle of the soldiers was Kells with his knee digging into Danse's back, "We can do this the hard way and I can drag your lifeless body off the ship and throw you overboard or you can comply and stop resisting and maybe I'll let you walk out of here."

The shuffling ceased and there was a moment of silence before the soldiers hauled Danse to his feet. "Good decision _synth._ " Kells growled, "You're lucky I don't shoot you just on principle."

Jackie tried to free herself from Maxson's hold when she heard movement and the clap of boots on the steel floor. He only gripped her tighter to him, denying her one last glance at her Paladin before he was led away to the brig.

Maxson waited until the door to the flight deck slammed shut with a clang before he release Jackie's wrists and loosened his embrace.

"I am not an unreasonable man Jackie," There was still hardness in his voice but she allowed him to smooth back her hair and wipe away the tears that still leaked from her eyes, "but you insist on forcing my hand and pushing me to do unreasonable things."

His fingers, just below her chin, tilted her face to look at him. Jackie knew what she saw within the depths of his pale eyes, but she didn't want to accept it. Refused to admit it. All she could do was look away and shift her body so she didn't have stare down the truth in his eyes.

It would have been easy now to push away from him, but her strength was quickly fading. The familiar stalk of fear and guilt, drove her irrational thoughts. She felt trapped and afraid of what would happen if she pulled away, so she forced herself to stay. Allowed herself to be held by the man who used her and and took what he wanted with no regard for the consequences. Capitalized on her fear to manipulate her. Lied to her, and made her believe that maybe he actually cared and if she continued with this he wouldn't hurt her. Played at her weakness, her vulnerability and loneliness. He forced her to believe, that even though he was the Elder, he was all she had left.

If it had been Danse, she would have collapsed into him. Held on to him with all her strength, clutching at the safety and solidity his embrace provided. Allowed for the raw vulnerability to pass between them and mend her broken heart through the quiet, unspoken understanding of their mutual heartache.

With Danse, no words were needed. He stitched her wounds together as he held her and kissed away her pain. Loving her without question and sheltering her from the storm she found herself thrust into. She hadn't asked for this life, she had just been thrown into the hurricane and left for dead as she struggled to survive without forsaking herself.

Everything she had, was given in exchange for Danse and she had failed. Again. With the acknowledgement of defeat, she leaned against Maxson, just long enough to quell the quiet sobs, so she wouldn't have to walk the ship with her tail between her legs, licking her wounds as she went.

A few times a scribe had approached to tend to the Elder's wounds but he waved them away. Allowing Jackie to remain there until she regained her equilibrium.

Finally, her hands pressed against his chest and she backed away. She looked up into his blue eyes, searching for compassion, for forgiveness, but she found none, only cool censure. The momentary lapse in his composure replaced by the unreadable face of steel.

Maxson gripped her chin and tilted her face, examining the streaks of blood, tracked in tears, across her cheeks, He roughly wiped at her face with the sleeve of his coat, "Get your armor and get off my Command Deck," no empathy would be given here, "You are to return to your quarters. I will deal with you later." He offered up the customary salute before dismissing her.

A few seconds passed and Jackie just stood there, wanting to apologize, but unable to form the words. The indifferent expression was shifting into one of anger again as his brows came together.

"Elder-"

"Did I stutter? I said _move out!_ " The words were spat from his mouth and Jackie felt her cheeks burn.

"Yes, sir." She snapped off a salute and turned on her heal. Her helmet was fished off the floor and she pulled the release on her suit. It opened to her with a hiss and she felt a tug at her heart as she hoisted herself up because Danse's scent still lingered inside.

The suit closed around her and for the first time Jackie got a glimpse of the chaos that was happening around her. Soldiers were scurrying about, trying to triage the mess the coup had caused. Some faces looked outraged, other simply looked confused. Mutineers were being led out to the flight deck and off the ship and people's alliances were being called into question.

A sea of soldiers moved about the bridge; coming and going from the flight deck and the main decks. Jackie feared what the future held, but even moreso she feared the man standing behind her. So she moved her feet forward and the sea parted for her and the ebb and flow halted to allow her passage as she reached for the rungs of the ladder. With anguish in her heart, she climbed the steps and disappeared into the ocean of the deck above.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I write with the intent of redemption because in canon, Danse doesn't get the closure he deserves. So just be patient, I'll get there I promise. While this story is kind of a rough pill to swallow, I promise it will be worth it in the end._


	6. Let the Human In

_When the words weigh heavy on the heart_  
 _I am lost and led only by the stars_

 _Cage me like an animal_  
 _A crown with gems and gold_  
 _Eat me like a cannibal_  
 _Chase the neon throne_

 _Breathe in, breathe out_  
 _Let the human in_

 _-Human, Of Monsters and Men-_

* * *

It was the same four walls and it wasn't the bunker but it might as well have been. Dull and crumbling beneath the weight of the world's end. A holding ground for grief and loneliness. The tomb where one came to rot away from insecurities and contradictions. Unable to understand, to comprehend that which gives, and takes away.

Life. How does one define it? Create it? Control it? End it.

What does it means to live, to be alive, to feel things that were never meant to be felt? Encased in the skeletal remains of stone walls, he had simply traded one prison for another.

Here he would remain, caught somewhere in between, because he had been damned from the day he was created. Marked to wander the wastes with emptiness in his heart. A soulless beast roaming without direction, without purpose because his life had no meaning. It had been stolen from him and what he perceived as his life had ended.

Everything he ever cared about and all that he had lived for… Gone. And he was a shell, a shadow, a mere facsimile of a man. He, himself was worthless. Created in the image of a lie, he came from nothing and would end up as nothing.

But then, when all seemed lost, a woman with mismatched eyes and fire branded in her soul had taken his hand and pulled him through the darkness. Convinced him that he was more than a machine and that there might be something else worth living for. She was beauty and light and made him feel so overwhelming human that the thought of living even a single day without the promise of her grace made his chest tighten up and drove him to irrationality.

He had told her he would burn down the Commonwealth for her and he had meant every word because she had burrowed her way into his heart. Her fingerprints of determination and kindness laid claim deep within the fabrication of his being. She had nested under his skin and settled in his bones with no way to cleanse himself of her, not that he wanted to.

They were kindred spirits, bound together by the trials of fire and their shared journey through the circles of hell. Clawing their way through the grit and the gore to the other side, hand in hand, burned and bruised but still breathing. Woven together through the test of time. Inseparable. Unbroken.

As much as Jackie affirmed to needing him, Danse needed her so much more than she would ever know. Until she had come crashing into his life, armed with a shotgun and a crooked smile, he had never truly understood how alone he really was. She was the part of him that he didn't realize he was missing.

After the bunker, when he was finally able to comprehend the gravity of what she had done for him, he allowed himself to come to terms with his own feelings for her. Pushed passed the road blocks and fail-safes put in place to prevent him from getting too close, he allowed himself to admit that he had fallen in love with this woman. The intensity of such realization both frightened him and calmed his warring soul. Silently he vowed that he would ensure, by all means necessary, that no harm would come to her. He would protect her with his own life just as she had done for him.

Yet, there was an incessant nagging in the recesses of his mind; monsters belonged in a cage and machines didn't deserve to have basic human rights. They - no _he_ \- should have never been allowed to exist under the false pretense that he was alive or been given the entitlement to believe the deception that he was human. He had come the conclusion that this was what he deserved. Locked in this cell, he deserved to burn for his atrocities.

The work in which he had devoted his life too teamed around him. Blood had been spilled and countless hours of sweat and manual labor poured into rebuilding this place from the ground up, he had helped shape this place into what it was. Forged ahead, ruthlessly contributing to the successful war campaign and now the Brotherhood was perched on the edge of victory.

But a stumbling block stood in their way. An impostor, the enemy, masquerading as a man poised to cause catastrophic failure. Not even in his wildest dreams did Danse expect that he would be the one to tear it all down. The realization dawning on him that Maxson had been right about him all along.

If it had been asked of him, Danse never would have conceived it would be him locked in the interrogation room at the airport. And yet here he was, pressed into the corner of that very room, trying to stowaway from the demons that took seed in his mind.

As the time ticked away and he sat in quiet rumination, he wondered if he had made the right decision. The solution seemed so clear in the bunker, eliminate the threat. Yet, the longer he sat in the isolation of his jail cell, he realized he may have made things worse.

People's lives had been put at risk and ultimately he had failed Jackie. Failed to fulfill his silent vow to protect her and keep her safe. Now she lay ensnared by the very thing he was trying to protect her from.

Once upon a time, he had taken an oath to the Brotherhood and even in exile he had pledged to uphold that oath, but now the waters were muddied and his alliances had shifted. Danse was prepared to turn his back on the only family he had ever known, not simply because they had failed him, but because they had failed the woman he loved.

The days events painfully scrolled through Danse's thoughts. The outcome had been unexpected. He had come here alone, fully prepared for the rain of hellfire and the reality that he wouldn't walk out alive. To be given the upper hand had been far from anticipated and now he couldn't quite rationalize why he had given up control when power had been thrust into his hands. Why the hell had he let Maxson go?

He groaned at the thought and leaned against the side wall. The throbbing in his head had only intensified since Kells had thrown him in here. Slowly, carefully he attempted to open his eyes, but the muted colors of the room ran together and made a slurry of his vision. The harshness of the overhead lights stung and made his gut clench, so he squeezed his eyes shut again. Trying, without avail, to divert his focus to the cool surface of the wall he was propped against instead of the dizziness that assaulted his consciousness.

With a heavy sigh, he warily rubbed his forehead and pressed his temples between his fingers, attempting to ease the ache. The pads of his fingers were slick against his skin and they came away streaked in deep crimson. He squinted at the tacky blotches of blood on his fingertips. Not a good sign. The wound, matted along his hairline was still raw and weeping. His shoulders sagged and he slumped forward as he let out his breath, because all of this would mean nothing if he was dead before morning.

After a moment of pained contemplation, Danse decided he could no longer sit and take it, his injuries required medical attention. His palms pushed against the concrete floor, there should be a soldier stationed outside the door-

The room pitched and the slurry swirled out of control around him as he tried to stand. Barely having time to throw out his hands before his face plummeted to floor.

Darkness pulled at his consciousness and he fought the overwhelming need to vomit, missing the not-so-subtle opening and closing of the door.

"Well that could have gone better." The familiar sound of the scribe's voice drifted from the doorway.

Relief washed over him upon hearing her and he didn't know where she had come from or why she was here. All he knew was that she could help.

"Haylen…" It took all of his concentration just to say her name and not retch or succumb to the darkness.

"Danse? What…?" she started, "Oh my God, how long have you been down here like this?" Hurried footsteps rushed towards him and perhaps he should have been embarrassed by his impaired state but he was too preoccupied with not giving in to his injuries at this point to really care.

"What the hell happened?" Haylen knelt down beside him as her hands settled on his shoulders, helping him roll over and lie on his back, "Didn't they send someone to check on you?"

Danse covered his eyes with his hand, attempting to excape from the glaring brightness above, "The lights," he groaned, scrunching up his face.

"Hold on," her hands left him and she retreated to flick off the overhead lights.

Suddenly he was bathed in sweet darkness and he instantly felt some of his tension ease. Haylen clicked on a flashlight and quickly returned to his side.

"Jeez Danse," she pulled his hand away from his face to examine the wound, "That's a nasty cut. I can't believe they just left you here."

Danse could understand the reasoning behind it. He was a prisoner. An exiled synth, presumed to be dead, he had impersonated a Paladin and held their Elder at gunpoint, what did they gain from keeping him alive?

The beam of the flashlight flicked in and out of his vision as she checked him over, "Hold still, I'm gonna clean this then patch you up."

Danse obediently did as he was told. Eager to comply, he desperately wanted the aching in his head to cease and the nauseating sensation that riddled his gut to leave him. He could hear rustling as Haylen dug around in her pack for clean rags, water, and antiseptic.

Gentle hands went to work, dragging a damp cloth across his face and through his hair. Ridding him of the dried, congealed blood. Her fingers combed through his hair, making sure none was left behind.

"Your hair's getting really long," an offhanded comment provided as a distraction as she pushed back the strands that fell in his face and doused him with a healthy dose of antiseptic.

It burned and Danse jerked and grunted in response.

"I know," Haylen soothed, "Just be still."

Dry gauze was pressed against his head. She held it there a moment before pulling away and shining the light to make sure the wound was properly cleaned.

"Alright, the stim should clear up the concussion and stop the bleeding." Haylen held his head with her other hand, "Don't move."

The prick of the needle near his temple made him tense and clench his fists at his side but he remained still.

Haylen pressed the gauze to his head again while she began to clean up the mess she made. Danse attempted to sit up but the dizziness remained and he groaned at the movement.

A hand rested on his shoulder, gently guiding him back to the floor, "Just relax, let the medicine do its job."

A twinge of sorrow and longing stung in his chest at the contact, he missed Jackie. Missed her vivacious disposition and the fiery determination in her eyes. But mostly he missed the feeling of having her close, her warmth seeping into his own as he held her in his arms. Her presence providing comfort when none would be given otherwise.

He hadn't realized he'd mumbled incoherently in his delirium until Haylen squeezed is shoulder, whispering that he'd be alright.

Several minutes of silence passed after that before the scribe asked, "How'd this happen?"

Slowly, Danse could feel the swimming and entanglement of his thoughts lessening as clarity returned to him. The pounding was easing up and he no longer felt the urge to vomit at the slightest movement.

He stared up at her, allowing a few seconds to pass before uttering the brash remark, "I tripped and fell and caught the butt of my own rifle."

Haylen cocked her head and looked down at him with a scowl. While obviously pleased with his rapidly improving condition, she was not amused, "Yeah, well that's what happens when you shoot from the hip, half cocked."

Catching her meaning he responded just as dryly, "I told you I had no intention of going down this road." He scrubbed at his face and leaned onto his elbows trying to sit up, no longer feeling the vertigo.

"And yet here we are," she took his arm and helped him to sit and lean back against the wall, "Here hold this," her hand nudged his elbow indicating she wanted him to continue applying pressure to the gash on the side of his head.

Haylen did a sweep of the area to make sure she hadn't missed anything before settling next to him.

Danse inhaled, finally able to breathe without feeling nauseous, "And what exactly do you think would have been the outcome if I had followed through with your plan?"

"We would have a new Elder and you wouldn't be sitting in a jail cell." Haylen didn't bother to turn the lights back on but kept the flashlight nearby so they could just barely make out each others features in the dim light.

With a shake of his head he answered, "It would have caused a rift, torn apart the Brotherhood."

"And what do you think your little stunt did?" she crossed her arms and questioned him with raised brows.

"That was not my intent," he sighed.

"Than what was this?" she gestured at nothing in particular, just letting off stream, before turning back to observe him, looking for any remaining negative effects of his injury.

The intent was never to trigger a coup, even if that had been the result in the end. The issue was not his loyalty to the Brotherhood or the need to call the Elder's authority into question, it had always been about Jackie. Although, Danse was starting to realized that this man who called himself Elder of the east coast division of Brotherhood of Steel was not the same man he had pledged his allegiance to. He had devoted his life to serving Arthur Maxson, the man, not this power hungry Elder who stood at the helm and commanded lawless injustices.

This war had morphed into some kind of personal vendetta and Maxson appeared fully prepared to slaughter anything that got in his way. It was no longer about the preservation of technology and protecting the people; it was about blood and victory at any and all costs and that wasn't what Danse had signed up for.

Finally he answered with the rise and fall of his shoulders as heavy air escaped him, "Jackie…" but he was unable to appropriately convey what this really meant to him. A hand dragged through his hair and he scratched at his skull. Feeling frustrated by the lack of forethought in his actions and the inability to fully understand why he had acted so irrationally, "I reacted impulsively, without sound judgement or reasoning. I don't know what came over me."

The admission didn't surprise him but it brought up all the ugly contradictions that permeated his mind these days. The conflict of cognition and programming. Where did one draw the line?

As if Haylen could read his thoughts, she patted his shoulder and smiled up at him, "It's called humanity Danse. You love her." It was a statement and one that Danse was not readily able to deny because it was true. He loved Jackie and he would do anything for her.

"I get it," she continued with watchful eyes, "but it should be Maxson in this cell, not you."

"I know," he exhaled and pulled the gauze away from his head. The last lingering pains of his head injury were fading quickly.

"You had him pinned." Haylen shone the light in his face, examining the gash to see if it was still bleeding and checking his eye movements, "Why'd you let him go?"

"What would have happened if I forced my hand or just shot him? It would have caused an uprising, a war within the ranks."

"Maybe," her fingers prodded the healing wound, "or your soldiers would have done the right thing and backed you up." It was said as if he already held some sort of control over the Brotherhood, "I don't think you realize the influence you have." Her fingers gently turned his face so she could meet his gaze, "And if this goes south?"

"This ends badly either way Haylen." Danse swallowed and leaned back against the wall, peering up into the darkness, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

The gravity of his words weighed heavy on his heart. No matter the outcome, lines would be crossed, lives would be lost, and for what? Because a damn synth couldn't get his emotions in check? It seemed awfully petty now that he thought about it.

Haylen continued her prodding, fingers jabbing at his head and face.

"I'm fine," Danse batted her hands away but her fingers lingered on a fresh scar just above his cheekbone.

"This is new."

A scowl passed across his brow, "Since when do you take stock in my face."

That was the wrong response because Haylen grinned, sensing a story behind the blemish, "Alright, tough guy, out with it. What happened?"

Danse really didn't want to get into how he had ended up at The Third Rail or how that insubordinate mercenary had drank him under the table but a jab to his ribs indicated she wouldn't relent.

This wasn't going to go over well, "Happened a couple weeks ago," he sighed and looked away feeling his neck burn, "Took a few in the face at The Third Rail for insulting that ghoul mayor."

"Why-?" he gave her a sidelong glance and the grin had started to fade, "You know what… I don't even wanna know why you were there in the first place." She waved her hand before asking, "Were you drunk?"

"No, that would be unprofessional," The answer was firm and forced out a bit too quickly as his fingers drummed on his thigh, "but I may be shot at if I ever decide to show my face again without Jackie."

Haylen's brows scrunched together, "You know, you tell off Jackie for being hot headed, but you can be one hell of a belligerent asshole with a cocky mouth when you feel like being a dick."

"I don't tolerate insubordination and ignorance well," he frowned, still glaring from his peripherals because he didn't owe her an explanation.

"Mmm," she stroked her chin with a slight shake of her head, "No…" and that shit-eating grin was returning, "I think the Institute just forgot to install a filter."

"Haylen!" He snapped and glowered at the accusation, his head jerking around to stare at her. A look of indignation in his eyes and Danse sincerely hoped that he could still intimidate the scribe with a single scathing look, "I'm offended."

Instead of cowering and shrinking away, she laughed outright, "No you're not," and knocked shoulders with him.

"It was inappropriate." God he was trying so hard to be angry but it had been so long since he had smiled, let alone laughed, that he was having a hard time fighting the pull at the corner of his lips at hearing Haylen's laughter. And it was kind of funny, just a little.

Danse knew full well that he could be… difficult. But it had nothing to do with the Institute. He was stubborn and sometimes he just felt like being an ass.

"See! It was funny," she playfully swatted at his arm as she leaned into his shoulder, "You're smiling, don't-"

The clattering of the door to the room being wrenched open interrupted her train of thought. The lights were hastily flicked on and both Danse and Haylan blinked, squinting at the sudden, harsh light and with it, the lighthearted mood vanished like ghosts in the night.

"Leave us," Maxson commanded the scribe from the doorway. Haylen's expression fell, her face soured with a look of contempt that Danse was sure mirrored his own.

Danse folded his arms across his chest with loathe in his heart and he stared the Elder down through narrowed eyes. Damn it, he was really hoping to avoid this altercation until the morning.


	7. Too Long in the Wasteland

Always eager to please, Haylen was never one to be disrespectful. She obediently followed orders without question, even when she disagreed. Not once had Danse seen her step out of line or mouth off to her superiors. But perhaps Haylen had been harboring a pattern of defiant behavior for some time, and maybe Danse had misjudged her all along.

Apparently, Haylen had made quite a scene in front of Quinlan following the order of Danse's execution. Not to mention, she had helped him escape and confronted him with that insubordinate plan of mutiny. Even though it had swiftly been stamped out with Danse's stubborn claims of loyalty to Maxson and the Brotherhood, he didn't fail to see the irony in the current situation he found himself in. It was an utter contradiction to those very claims and now, surprisingly, he just might count himself one among the defiance.

Maxson stood in the doorway of his jail cell, clad only in a clean black jumpsuit. The remnants of the gunshot wound still remained in puckered, red welts but they had mostly healed. Still, the Elder loomed, commanding respect from above the two soldiers sat against the wall.

"So, have you come to join the party?" Haylen scoffed.

With no intent to simply disarm, the biting tone was meant to draw blood. Her back was pressed straight against the wall, body rigid and eyes scathing beneath pinched brows. Haylen did not fear her Elder, and Danse knew that the lack of respect festering amongst soldiers, was a dangerous breeding ground that cultivated rebellion.

"Or have you simply come to finish the biggest choke job in Brotherhood history?"

"Haylen!" A clipped warning and hard flick of the eyes, a red flag to watch her tongue, because Danse had played with fire once already today and he was in no mood to get burned.

"You're testing my patiences scribe." The sharp firmness in the Elder's voice was accompanied by a slight tightening of his jaw and a lowering of his of his brows. Yet, despite the full range of emotions Danse had witnessed earlier, Maxson had come here armed with steel and composure.

"Tell me Elder," With a twist of her lips, Haylen slowly crept up the wall and clasped her hands behind her back as she slinked toward Maxson, "how does it feel to be railroaded by a synth and a woman half your size?"

It was wrong and he knew it, but Danse had to bite back the little smirk that threatened to taint the well known scowl. He had to hand it to her, Haylen had grit. She was always the loyal soldier, albeit loyal to the wrong man, perhaps.

"You were given an order," A finger was jabbed towards the open door and the face of steel was melting away as cold fury ignited behind pale eyes, "do not make me repeat myself!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" she stood at attention, chest puffed out and snapped off a salute. The old world touch of her fingers to her temple was meant to be a slight. If it wasn't obvious already, she wanted Maxson to know she was blatantly mocking the Brotherhood.

Nostrils flared and air heaved from his chest, but before Maxson could unleash his wrath upon the woman, Danse was on his feet and across the room in a few quick strides.

"That's enough," he growled at Haylen and held up his hand to halt Maxson's advance. "She's done." Her hand was yanked away from her face as Danse pushed her towards the door, attempting to defuse the situation before the scribe found herself locked in her own cell.

"Do as you're told soldier, and leave." While Danse appreciated her tenacity, there was a time and a place for it, and now was neither the time nor the place.

Haylen however, wasn't finished and she planted her skidding boots firm on the ground, "Chapter 7, Article 13, states that prisoners of war must be treated humanely at all times." Danse bit down hard, grinding his teeth together to counter the sigh and eye roll. Apparently Haylen wasn't above throwing the Codex in the Elder's face as well hurling insults at him.

If the abrupt rise and fall of Maxson's chest was any indication, he was mere seconds away from dragging Haylen off and tossing her in the cells with the rest of the rebels, "Synth's-"

"Would you like me to define prisoner of war, _sir_?" Haylen interrupted and jerked her wrist out of Danse's grasp, "Because as it's defined, the Codex does not mention, nor does it delineate the meaning of the word _human,_ as it pertains to prisoners of war."

Before Maxson could breath a word of protest, Haylen marched up to him to invade his personal space and Danse made no move to intervene. Instead, he found himself standing by, watching as Haylen got in the Elder's face, allowing it to happen. His selfish desires curious to see how this would unfold. Again, credit was due, Maxson was a menacing figure towering over the scribe, but she met his intense gaze with one of equal fortitude.

"Any act causing death or seriously endangering the health of a prisoner of war is prohibited and shall be regarded as a serious breach of the Codex." she paused to squint up at the Elder, daring him to challenge her.

"Perhaps you need a reminder of who you are speaking to, _scribe_ ," An ever brewing storm overshadowed Maxson's face, "It would be advised that you _watch your tone!"_ The words were spat out with the rising pitch of his voice as he listed towards her.

Unwavering in her conviction, Haylen continued, "Prisoners of war must at all times be protected against acts of violence, intimidation, insults, and public humiliation. Furthermore, acts of reprisal against prisoners of war are prohibited."

The air seemed to crackle and sizzle as if the molecules were charged with static electricity, and Danse could feel the prickly rise of the hairs on the back of his neck as heated silence filled the room. Eyes glued to one another, neither was willing to back down from the challenge.

A familiar feeling of deja vu clawed around under his skin. This battle for dominance had ended poorly before and he wasn't about to have a repeat of the Listening Post.

Danse was set to step up and push Haylen out the door himself when the silence was broken with a snarl, "Are you threatening me, scribe?"

At last, Haylen took a step back, it wasn't out of intimidation or surrender but rather a tactical retreat. She had said her piece and now it was time to gracefully step out.

"No sir, simply reminding you, that even as Elder, you are not above the Codex. You are bound, like everyone else, to uphold the tenants."

"Haylen," Danse cut in with a hand on her shoulder before Maxson could respond, "you need to leave."

The woman's eyes flicked between Danse and the Elder, struggling to come to the conclusion of whether she should stay or she should go.

Danse was about to prompt her leave again, but she pivoted out of his grasp and squared off to him, "Yes, sir," she chirped and offered him a proper salute and a respectable, "Ad Victoriam."

Maxson looked about ready to lose his mind over the blatant insubordination, but with a small motion of his hand, Danse hoped that Maxson would stand down.

A few more seconds ticked by as Haylen waited for Danse to respond, all the while Maxson fumed behind her but held his position. Danse refused to return the gesture or utter the words. He wasn't part of the Brotherhood anymore and he never intended to end up in this situation. Despite the the soldiers willingness to hand it over, control of the Brotherhood wasn't something Danse was after. All he wanted was safety and security and for the oppression to end, especially for Jackie.

The injustices and hardships she had endured were beyond comprehension and often times Danse wondered how she was still standing. Even his identity crisis seemed to pale in comparison to the struggles Jackie had faced and continued to face. It was because of this that he would stand up for her. Attempt to shield her from the horrors she perhaps believed she deserved to suffer. Danse owed her that much, to provide her with security and give her his loyalty.

With a drop of his shoulders and a slight shake of his head, Danse nudged Haylen towards the door, "I appreciate what you are trying to do here, but it's in both our best interest if you just go."

Understanding was reflected in Haylen's eyes as her hands fell to her sides. She held his gaze and gave a small nod before turning to leave. Gone like stardust fading away with twilight's first breath of dawn, she disappeared through the doorway, pulling the metal door closed behind her.

After the door clicked shut, Danse stood there awkwardly staring. His fingers drummed against his thigh, unsure of how to proceed from here. He had been left alone, trapped deep behind enemy lines, caged with a man who was out for his blood. The thought crossed Danse that perhaps he should be afraid, but he did not fear death nor did he fear the Elder, because however impulsive Maxson tended to be, he was not one to fail to see reason.

The sharp intake of breath followed by a slow exhale, diverted Danse's wandering thoughts back to his once Elder. The face of steel had been erected once again, but Danse knew the man well enough to see the inconspicuous slips in the facade. The ever so slight twitch of his jaw and subtle flexing of his fingers, the Elder was angry no doubt, but under it all he was nervous. Even though Maxson sought to burn a hole straight through him, Danse could see the heartache concealed behind the veil of forced composure.

It seemed they all had paid with bits and pieces of themselves to afford the mounting cost of this war.

And Danse couldn't help but wonder, "Why didn't you kill me?" he hadn't meant to blurt it out loud and he felt the frustration creeping up his neck at this new found lack of restraint.

"I could ask you the same question." The shield held and Maxson didn't miss a beat in his response.

"I didn't come here to betray the Brotherhood," The Elder was primed for the offensive, but Danse capitalized on his impulsive confidence and advanced before Maxson could execute the attack, "Answer my question. Why?"

Maxson unlatched his lips but quickly snapped them shut with a flick of his tongue. And there it was again, the flex of his hands before his eyes hit the floor. The admission was painful and Maxson was desperately trying to bite it back.

The discomfort didn't go unnoticed by the former Paladin, but he wasn't about to let Maxson off that easy, "I want to hear you say it," his rough tone grated like sandpaper and the Elder visibly tensed as Danse stepped toward him.

"I-" Arthur Maxson, with all the things they claimed of him, below the surface was a young man who had been thrust into a position of power. Forced to make the hard decisions, but he was still human, still wet behind the ears at times, and still capable of making mistakes, "I couldn't do it."

But Danse would not afford him any leniency, Maxson hadn't made him what he was, but the Elder had stolen his every last ounce of humanity. He had taken everything from Danse and still, he continued to take from woman who had helped him find meaning in life again, "So you sent Jackie instead? Because you don't like to get your hands dirty?"

"No," The forcefulness of Maxson's voice and the pleading in the paleness as his eyes leveled with Danse's once again, took the former Paladin by surprise, "I sent her because I knew she wouldn't follow through."

The logic was unsound and the reasoning emotionally fueled. Danse shook his head, he wouldn't accept the Elder's excuses, "I was so utterly devoted to the cause. You had to have known I was more likely to eat the barrel of my pistol than to show back up here."

"I know." Maxson's eyes fell back on the floor.

"Then why send anyone at all?" Danse could feel his resolve ebbing away, swirling the drain with his rationality and failing restraint, "Why not let me end it and be done with it?"

"Because," Maxson's shield of steel had slipped away and his face was gnarled with all the unspoken anguish his position created, "I couldn't live with myself knowing I had allowed it to happen."

"And this-" Danse gestured in wide arcs around him, rapidly reaching his breaking point, "-this is so much better?"

The Elder was on the defensive now, quickly trying to counter-step the lines that had been crossed, "I thought-"

"You thought you would send Jackie, then conveniently show up to do what?" Danse moved on his advantage and closed in for a clean kill, "Make an example? To save face? To go along with the pomp and circumstance?" his voice was a crescendo echoing off the walls, "Because you couldn't man up and deal with me yourself?"

Danse paid no heed to the Elder as his nails clawed at his jumpsuit and he allowed his brows to dip and his eyes to sag, "I-"

"You let Jackie take the blame for your fuck up!" The tearing of old wounds threated to drown him in the blood of betrayal at his rising anger, "You forced her to believe there was no way out! Now you use her to coddle your sorrows because no one tells Arthur Maxson no. What the _hell_ is wrong with you Arthur?! This isn't-" Danse stuttered, struggling to get words and the meaning out through the blind rage that was consuming him, " Y-you're not-"

"What do you want from me Danse?!" Maxson's angry and desperate shout silenced the former Paladin's onslaught.

"I…" Danse blinked and sputtered, the use of his name effectively causing his mind to blank as he stared at the uncharacteristically vulnerable Elder.

"I made a mistake," A hand was dragged through unkempt hair, Maxson had been pushed far beyond the edge of constraint, "but I can't take it back."

This was as close to an apology that he was going to get and in a previous day and time, Danse would have been ashamed of his outburst and the way he had spoken to the Elder, but the damage had been done and Maxson had taken so much from him. It didn't matter how Maxson felt about what had happened, because it _had_ happened. And Danse had come to understand just how poorly the situation had been handled, how _wrong_ and _demeaning_ it was.

Stripped not only of his rank and association with the Brotherhood, but his decency, his Elder had torn away the foundations of his life and left him destitute. Clawing at the scorched and fractured pieces of his existence, trying to make sense of it all. Even with the forward progress and the healing provided by the passage of time and all the support that Jackie poured into him, Danse still struggled at times with the basic task of continuing to stay alive.

With a slow and intentional breath, the resolve slipped back into place. While Danse could sort of accept the half-hearted apology and recognition from Maxson that he messed up, guilt was not a satisfactory excuse for failing to correct the mistake and continuing to cause undue suffering.

"I want you to do right thing," Danse would hold Maxson accountable, make him answer for what he had done, "You came here to wage war with the Institute, not destroy the Commonwealth. You said you care about the people, but all you've done is create enemies and leave a path of death and destruction in the wake of your lust for blood and power."

"It's not that simple," Pale eyes pleaded for forgiveness and the bending of steel. Empathy however, was in short supply these days and the former Paladin refused to yield to the silent request. There would be no white flags today.

"You're a coward Arthur," Danse spat, feeling the heat gurgle again, "You're traveling down a dangerous road and you're dragging Jackie with you," he shifted closer emphasizing the severity of his words, "I won't allow you to continue to use her."

Maxson said nothing, a myriad of emotions flicked across the Elder's face as he struggled with his next move. Pale eyes darted between his, but the former Paladin would not relent. Maxson's face hardened as he bristled at being backed into a corner.

With a roll of his shoulders and a twist of his neck and the foundations of steel were shifting back into place. Danse could see the realization float across Maxson's eyes that he had let his walls fall and too much of himself had slipped through. It was too late, the moment had passed and Maxson was arming his defenses again.

Elder Maxson, in all his grandeur, would be returning any moment.

Ever so slightly, Danse shuffled away in preparation the the backlash.

"Did you plan this?" The authority had returned and Maxson's composure was a wall of steel once more.

"I told you, I didn't come here to betray the Brotherhood." Danse sighed, knowing full well where this was headed.

In his irritation at the coming argument, Danse turned his back on Maxson and stalked away toward the table and chairs in the middle of the small room. He had no desire to beat this bush again, but Maxson would not bury the the hatchet so easily. The Elder would fight with a fence post just to prove a point.

As expected the remark, didn't derail the young man from his pitch,"The institute's plan to overthrow the Brotherhood-"

"This wasn't the Institute." A chair was pulled out and Danse slumped down feeling overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions he had experienced today. A man of rationality, Danse struggled with the immense range of emotions that had been thrown at him. He wasn't exactly sure how to process everything he felt and he longed for the sounding-board Jackie provided.

With the thud of boots on the concrete, Maxson came into his view once again, "Your malfunction is exactly why synths shouldn't exist."

Danse leaned back in his chair with a scowl fixed on his heavy brow, "Call it what you want Arthur, but I'm not _malfunctioning_." As far as he was concerned, the mess in his head was proof enough to his claim to humanity, "I've had far too much time to think about what, and who, I am and I have come to accept the fact that I am a synth, but that doesn't have to define who I am."

It seemed at least some of Jackie's stubborn harping had managed to worm its way through his thick skull.

"You aren't human," Maxson was resolute in his conviction, standing tall above Danse and looking down at him with contempt. It was a stark contrast to the vulnerable young man Danse had seen just moments before.

"Perhaps," The argument Jackie made was compelling and of all things she had told Danse of how synths were created, he had begun to agree with her, "Or maybe we were wrong all along. And maybe our perceptions about synths were misguided. Perhaps we missed the biggest tragedy of it all; that the Institute is manufacturing human beings."

Danse certainly wasn't condoning their abuse of technology, but there was so much wrong with what the Institute was doing. They were creating living beings, manufacturing them by the truckloads daily, experimenting on them, using them, forcing them into servitude. The Institute gave them free will then robbed them of their humanity. While Danse wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger on the enemy, he often found himself combing through his memories, trying to recall what it had been like living down there. What was it that had driven him to flee?

"A man can't be made." The thump of Maxson's hand of the table caused Danse to stiffen. He peered up at the Elder through the slits of his eyes.

The Institute was wrong, and so was Maxson.

The gurgling heat had begun to boil again, "Just because there may be a few scraps of metal in my head, doesn't mean I'm not human."

Both hands rested on the table as Maxson lowered himself to level with Danse as he prepared his counter statement.

Danse spoke before Maxson could respond, "Don't look at me like that Arthur." He had a some reserve ammunition of his own and he intended on taking the shot below the belt, "You've got your fair share of _extra_ parts too. The only difference is I didn't chose to have mine implanted. They came pre-equipped."

"Don't you dare go there!" A finger shook in his face as rage flashed behind pale blue eyes, "That's different and you know it!"

"Is it?" Danse folded his arms against his chest.

"I'm human and I would never betray the Brotherhood," It was growled through tight lips as Maxson leaned closer.

Danse chose to ignore the jab at his humanity, "And neither would I," The chair scraped against the floor as Danse rose to his feet, he needed something to occupy his thoughts before his anger got the better of him again. "I am still devoted to the cause, the Institute needs to be destroyed. If nothing else, I am living proof of why they can no longer be allowed to operate."

"And yet you undermine my authority," Maxson slowly scooted around the table with his hand in a tight fist looking like he was ready to strike.

"I don't answer to you anymore Arthur," It was never a good idea to provoke a wild animal but it appeared Danse had abandoned his good judgement long ago, "and you lost my respect when Jackie showed up on my doorstep yesterday."

It was no secret that Maxson had a short fuse, but it was only recently that Danse found himself on the receiving end of the Elder's wicked temper, "So you think that entitles you to the Brotherhood?"

"I never wanted the Brotherhood." The conversation was serving no purpose other than to go round in circles, shouting about ideals that neither man were willing to compromise on.

"Yet half my crew is gunning for my head and ready to make you Elder." The face of steel twisted in the fire of disgust.

"I can't lead the Brotherhood." Danse sighed and took a step back, his fingers finding a rhythm against his leg, "Regardless of my beliefs on the matter, it goes against everything the Brotherhood stands for. A synth can't be Elder."

"So what do you propose we do, _synth_?" The word seemed to taste as sour as it sounded because the Elder's expression shriveled with the flexing of his jaw.

Danse's hand abandoned his side and dragged down his scrunched up face because they were back to _this_ again...

"I don't know," Danse admitted as he scratched at the almost beard on his face.

The gnawing of demons feasting on his mind picked at his loosely bound sanity. Danse hated that they had arrived back at this place _,_ but he supposed he could expect no less from the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. There was no way to cover up what he was. It didn't matter what he had achieved or what he would accomplish in the future, he would always be less. Feared for what he was and denied basic rights because he was made not born. In the eyes of the Commonwealth, it didn't matter who he was, it only mattered what he was…

Traitor. Abomination. Machine. _Synth_.

A dirty word and a danger to society. He couldn't be trusted not to turn on the people he cared about. And it was that easy, he had come full circle. No matter the progress, his musings always deposited him right back here. Ensnared in the web of lies and deceit. Unable to discern what was true, what was real, he felt his consciousness shift and his perception cloud with dark puffs of grey.

The growing tightness in his chest threatened to strangle him from the inside out and Danse struggled to push through without undoing the strong foundations he had laid to defend himself. But all he could see were blue eyes staring him down, accusing him. Maxson had a front row seat to his implosion.

Something was muttered but it didn't register and then Maxson marched off to pace the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

 _No._ He would not be the victim because it didn't matter what Maxson believed, he still had the ability to chose his own fate. Danse felt his reality shift back into place and he chased away the storm clouds with determination. But as he watched Maxson make his rounds, he realized he had asked the wrong question earlier-

"Why are you here?"

Maxson paused, if only for a moment to scowl in his general direction, "The Institute and everything that represents it is a danger and needs to be destroyed."

"That's not what I asked," Danse stood firm in the middle of the room and brown eyes followed the brooding Elder.

It seemed Maxson was going to ignore the question all together, but he suddenly halted and turned back towards Danse, "I-" and the steel veneer was slipping again, "I've never questioned my decisions. Never not known what to do."

In the past, Maxson had often sought out the former Paladin's counsel and expertise when making decisions, but now it seemed wrong to give it to him. At the end of the day, Maxson was his enemy.

"You said it before," Danse settled on vague ambiguity, "we exist in the realm of grey. There is no clear answer and the lines of right and wrong have blurred together. There is no easy way out. Only death and the wasteland."

There was no response given, only the shake of his head as Maxson's eyes drifted to the floor.

A step forward and Danse felt the need to speak up, "You're not the same man I pledged allegiance to. The man I followed into battle, the man I bled for, and would have died for." Hands fidgeted uncomfortably at Maxson's side, "You let the power go to your head. Let it consume you and now you are no more a man than I am." Danse continued his approach, stopping only when he was mere inches from the young Elder, "This has to stop."

Still, Maxson said nothing, continuing to take stock in the floor.

"What happened to you?" Danse stood before the Elder trying to catch his gaze, seeking to decipher what the other man was trying to hide.

A strange expression darkened Maxson's features. A confusion, as if he was sifting through his mind, carding through memories to pinpoint a moment in time, attempting to amount an answer amongst the thoughts. It was an expression that Danse had first witnessed some time ago but hadn't come to recognize until recently.

"Look at me," Danse ordered.

Slowly, reluctantly Maxson's eyes rose to meet his gaze and Danse searched the pale blue for the truth, "Who are you Arthur Maxson?"

"I've always considered you one of my closest confidants. A friend if you will," Maxson chose his words carefully, "You are perhaps the only person I have ever been able to depend on." Blue eyes narrowed and cut into him with an intensity that made Danse uncomfortable, "I am trusting you Danse, to make right decision."

What Danse found in the depths of those pale eyes, cold as steel, made his gut knot up and bile burn at his throat, "I think you should go," the threatening growl rose from deep within as the pieces clicked together and he finally started to realize what this had been about all along.

Heavy breaths fought to claim the shared air between them as a hand grasped Danse's shoulder, "Do the right thing Danse."

Eyes lingered, questing for understanding, but just as Danse was about to relieve Maxson of his hold on his shoulder, the Elder turned and vanished through the door without another word.


	8. The Order of Time

"We are bound by the order of time."

The passage of awareness measuring our existence - _time_ \- had a funny way about it. The linear movement progressed at an ever constant rate but one's perception of time tended to distort the continuum. When asked how old she was, Jackie was technically well on her way to being two and a half centuries old. Yet in her mind's eye, she had barely been alive for thirty of those years. The same could hold true for Danse. His mind allowed him to believe that he had roamed the wastes for over three decades, but how much of that time had actually occurred?

The question scratched at her skull; if she could change her perceptions, could she shift her reality? Alter time?

As much as she wished for it to be true, Jackie knew it wasn't that simple. There was no way to halt the forward movement of time. Impossible to hit the rewind and go back to the effortless moments before time and the world unraveled.

Steel walls presently held her captive as she mused and took a turn about the room. In the span of then and now, it seemed that an entire season of her life had come and gone. Despite the deception, barely half a day had passed since the waking hours of the early morning when Jackie had joined the renegade movement to overthrow the Brotherhood.

Now, she was trapped in her quarters and the repetitive thud of her boots on the floor was a satirical echo that rang through her ears. A soft whispering of lies that stretched their roots to the far reaches of her mind. Cruel and relentless, the voices in her head screamed that she had achieved nothing but failure. She would never be good enough. Never amount to anything. Always a step behind, she had failed her mission.

Forsaken herself to protect the ones she held most dear. But they had ended up broken or dead regardless of her best efforts. Jackie had given up everything only to find that the value of her sacrifices were worthless. _She_ was worthless.

Her baby had grown into a man who perpetuated the perverted mindset that brought the world to its knees and she was powerless to stop it. Unable to fulfill her duties, she had failed as a mother. While the death of her husband had torn a hole in her heart that she thought would never close.

Thrust into a world that was never meant to be hers, over the lapse of time, Jackie had somehow found the wound in her chest had started to heal. The hemorrhaging eased, the trauma had begun to mend, and slowly the fractured piece were knit together. But then...then-

The room lurched and blurred as she reached for an empty bottle on the desk and hurled it at the wall. It shattered against the metal, spraying glass across the floor.

 _Goddammit!_

Jackie clawed at her scalp trying to force out the torrent of mind numbing guilt. Fingers dug into her flesh, scraping through her hair. Skin pilled beneath jagged, dirty nails as her fingertips dragged into tight fits. The burning of weeping, scratched flesh was but a dull throb in comparison to the crippling ache in her chest.

All the shit that had happened to Danse had been her fault and she couldn't even begin to process how it had affected her. The truth had ripped her open and left her raw and exposed. Left her so incredibly vulnerable. Laid bare for the wastes to consumer her, or more specifically Arthur Maxson.

Speaking of which, she had a date with the devil and it seemed he had stood her up.

Her mind was quickly shifting to a different kind of storm and Jackie stared, hands falling to her sides with sharp pants, at the broken glass strewn about the floor.

Hours had passed and still that insolent _child_ had left her, caged like an animal, in her room. Letting her mind run rampant with the possibilities of what he would do to her. Guilt permeated her thoughts and propelled her body with nervous energy.

The flush of anger spread across her cheeks with the tight set of her jaw.

Who the hell cooked up the half-baked plan to put a teenager in charge of an entire army?

Jackie had more pressing items on her to-do list than attending to the Elder's juvenile need for control. But she feared what would happen if she left and Maxson returned to find her vacant quarters. Because down at the airport Danse was locked up, alone and vulnerable. It would be entirely too easy for Maxson to ensure that the execution was carried out properly this time.

So Jackie would sit and wait, prepared to shut up and take it when Maxon finally came for her. Danse didn't deserve to die because she couldn't seem to follow through.

Glittering light bounced off the shards scattered around the floor. With a deep sigh and a roll of her neck, the anger was dribbling away, and Jackie set about to sweep up the mess she made before resuming her rounds.

Even though her room was a windowless prison, Jackie knew that the hour was late and nightfall had undoubtedly claimed the Commonwealth. It was in the darkness that the monsters hunted, lurking in the blackened corners of the wastes. Perhaps she should consider herself lucky that she was _safe_ aboard the Prydwen, but Jackie had long since come to the understanding that demons hid in plain sight aboard the sacred warship.

In the fade of time, she waited like a damn dog, anxious to be rewarded for her obedient behavior. But as the minutes stretched on, the harsh call of judgement never came.

When she had first returned to her quarters, a path of small circles had been made around the room. It didn't take her long to realize that a swift reprimand was not at her heels and her attention had been diverted to the mountain of neglected reports that had accumulated in her absence. However, there was only so much paper pushing she could stomach before she was ready to jump ship.

With her head in a million different places, Jackie had retired to her bed, endeavoring to obtain the elusive gift of unconsciousness, but reaping no reward in the end. Sleep had ever evaded her restless mind. The conflict, of right and wrong, fear and blame, that she had been trying to smoother in the cesspool of her conscience, was demanding to be dealt with. Her futile attempt to slip peacefully between the sheets had turned into anxious fidgeting, tossing and turning until she finally sat up to incessantly twist her hands together. An unsuccessful effort to wring out the nervous tension.

Jackie sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, because more than anything she longed to be locked away with Danse down at the airport. She so desperately wanted to be close to him because up here, on the Prydwen, she felt nervous and unguarded. Vulnerable. Danse would know what to do. Know how to ease her apprehension. And she knew she had no right to ask for his continued support and comfort, but she was a selfish woman and she didn't know how to go on without him.

It was the guilt that stalked her from the shadows. Targeted the vulnerable flesh of her underbelly, lying in wait, ready to gut her at the first sign of weakness. Ever present, it was a phantom obscured in darkness, waiting as the wasteland whittled her down, ready for the moment when her defenses could no longer withstand the battery. And in the perfect storm, it rushed in from all angles, overwhelming her senses and forcing her to her knees as it shimmied up from the deep recesses of her mind.

So she paced to escape the onslaught. A superficial avoidance to keep from sinking into the black hole of grief at her core that sucked in and destroyed everything good in her life. Warped her mind and poisoned her thoughts. The back and forth movement was the only remedy she knew to keep her mind occupied long enough to prevent her from reaching for the firearm laid out on the desk.

This is what failure felt like.

A path was beaten around the room as she moved to distraction and the familiar surroundings started to fade into blurred lines and abstract shapes. And she turned inward to reflect on a time long since passed.

Two hundred and twenty-two years, nearly three lifetimes had passed, since Jackie had taken an oath and vowed to uphold a set of values. It didn't matter that she had sworn to protect her country and defend the rights of the people, the world had gone to shit regardless.

Those values had defined who she was. They shaped her life and brought her satisfaction knowing that she was working for the greater good. Eventually, they had brought her to Nate and even though she had made a joint decision to leave the JAG Corps, the values remained.

After the vault, she was determined to uphold those values. Use them to help guide her in her journey to find her son. To do good in this world. To make a positive impact. But the wasteland was unforgiving; taking what it wanted and giving nothing in return. And little by little she slowly slipped away. This new Commonwealth took more than she had to give.

It seemed the values she held so dear, meant nothing here. Sacrifice your humanity or die trying to save it.

When she found the Brotherhood of Steel, she got it. She understood the blind devotion and she thought she had found the greater good. A cause she could get behind, protect the people and take out the enemy. Jackie understood loyalty and she was desperate to serve. Perhaps it was the only thing she had ever been good at. Serving her country, her husband, her son, and now begrudgingly, the Brotherhood.

Finally she had found her salvation, and she had been swept away by a current of charisma and the deception of a cause that seemed noble on the surface but was fundamentally flawed. Fooled into believing that the tenants were close enough, even if the values didn't quite align. But she missed the fatal fault all along: the Brotherhood wasn't the Army and she never really belonged here in the first place.

Boots stilled on the floor as fingers pressed against her cheeks and Jackie rubbed at her eyes.

How had she fallen so far?

More than anything Jackie felt like a joke. She held the rank but didn't support the cause. She had assisted with advancing the campaign but it seemed to only lead to more destruction. And above all else, she had let herself be taken advantage of by a charismatic young leader with delusions of grandeur and entirely too much power and control at his fingertips. Jackie had allowed Maxson to extort her for his own selfish gain and perhaps she was ok with that because it was what she deserved. How she was paying it back to be forgiven for her sins.

Each passing moment that she waited for the knock on the door grew into festering unease. Jackie was an intelligent woman and she understood that this was wrong, but she had convinced herself that she had earned the abuse and Maxson was entitled to take what he wanted. In her twisted justification, she believed that enduring the violation of her body would equate to atonement. She would crucify herself to make right for the crimes against humanity she had committed. For her son and the loss of her husband. For surviving when it should have been her suspended in time, rotting away in the vault with a bullet in heart. For Danse and all his suffering because that had been her fault too.

Jackie would sacrifice herself, sell her body and give up her own humanity, to pay for the atrocities she had created. To afford the debt her son owed to the wasteland and barter for the freedom of a man who gave her life and reminded her to keep breathing. So she would bend to her knees and choke down her payment for Danse's life. It was worth it if it meant the he was safe and alive.

A disgrace, she was no better than Maxson but she would no longer allow herself to cry over this situation. She had dug her own grave and it was time she dealt with the consequences. Because today she had played Maxson at his own game. Threatened him, shot him, and in the end, let him go to continue his blood-lust.

Failure at it's finest. What good had it all been for if Maxson would have his way with her tonight and murder them all come morning anyway?

The irony of it all wasn't lost her. Jackie had given Maxson all the ammunition he needed and had personally signed Danse's execution. Even before the exile, she had heard murmurs of unrest. Jackie knew the Brotherhood was unstable and still she had returned when she should have run.

A look around the room and she knew by now the knock at the door was never coming. If she sought redemption, she would have to seek it out herself.

Jackie blinked and the blurry spot on the floor she had been staring at refocused into cold, hard steel as she brushed away the tears. The room around her shifted back into view. It had been given to her, but it wasn't hers and she would do this for him, for Danse, because he belonged here, not her.

The weight of the wasteland weighed heavy on her shoulders as Jackie reached for the door handle. She would escape her prison and march straight to the gates of Hell. She would walk through fire, not for the demon concealed within, but for Danse, waiting for her on the other side.


	9. Love like a Hurricane

_**A/N:**_ _Please note the change in rating._ _ **Warnings**_ _for sexual content, rape/non-con, and coercion. Hopefully by now it is somewhat obvious where this chapter is headed. I know it is a tough pill to swallow. It can be skipped if you don't wish to read it. There are some difficult chapters after this but none are quite as heart wrenching._

* * *

As Jackie pulled the heavy metal door opened, she was met with the quiet hum of the Prydwen's engines. The absence of movement and the lack of sound confirmed her suspicions of the late hour. The usual sharp clap of boots on the steel floor and idle chatter from soldiers milling about was distinctly missing. Even in the dead of night, the ship seemed to buzz with activity.

Tonight however, was the exception.

In the vacant hallways, a sparse few soldiers were making their nightly rounds, but the remaining troops who had avoided a stay in the greybar motel down at the airport, had settled in their bunks for the evening.

Jackie flinched at the thunderous clang of her door closing. Sure that if the sudden noise didn't wake the entire ship, than the vibrations of the cavernous echo would. A glance over her shoulder and the halls were empty. She was alone. Despite her shaking hands, Jackie breathed a sigh of relief because she hated knowing that the entire crew was aware of what she was up to.

Even though she tried to float along like a whisper in the wind, there were no secrets in the Brotherhood. Whatever the others thought of her, Jackie tried not to let it get to her. All of it, even the most heinous of rumors, perpetuated the lie. That she had executed Danse. Murdered him in cold blood without remorse. So she allowed it, because it maintained the deception they had created. If the crew believed Danse was dead, then he could continue on with what little dignity he had left. At least it meant he was still breathing.

It wasn't without trepidation that Jackie treaded along the wall to the door that lay just beyond her own. Her pulse silently pounded in her ears and she wondered if the air had always been this thin inside the ship. It was as if a dark shadow was perched on her chest, crushing the oxygen out of her lungs. Her fingers twisted tighter and tighter around clammy palms and the knot in her gut felt much the same.

The voice of reason argued that it wasn't too late to run. Turn around and hightail it back to her quarters, or better yet, make one last valiant jailbreak and perhaps she would even make to Danse before she was gunned down. But the voice of madness won over and seamlessly fed her the lie that if she did this it would mean something. That come tomorrow they might all walk away unscathed. She _had_ to do this. There was no other option. All other outcomes ended in death and continued suffering.

As she drew closer to the door, the heaviness in her chest grew and she blinked to maintain her composure. Having already decided that she would not allow herself to feel anything other than a sense of duty to fulfill this objective. At last the door loomed in front of her. The gateway to the underworld.

Jackie closed her eyes and breathed in, releasing herself with her breath. Her hands fell to her sides and her fingers flexed. Once. Twice. And with a roll of her shoulders she was no one. She let it all go. She would allow herself to feel nothing because she was nothing.

A final breath and Jackie swallowed her pride. With tightness in her jaw, she raised a shaking hand to rap her knuckles on the cool metal. But instead of the steady knock of her fist, her palm pressed against the door and she leaned her forehead on the steel.

She couldn't do it.

This was tearing her up inside. Driving her to madness. It was _wrong_ but she couldn't seem to stop it. Again the tears were brimming at the corners of her eyes. She was giving herself away. Allowing Maxson to take a part of herself she didn't want to give. If she did this, it meant that she would leave a part of herself behind and it wasn't fair. The stench of betrayal hung in the air, seeping into her pores and marking her a traitor.

As much as she coaxed herself to continue, Jackie remained stock still outside the Elder's quarters. She was afraid of what Maxson would do to her, what it was cost her if she allowed this to happen. What would remain of her if she followed through? Would there be anything left of her at all?

The conflicted waged in her mind and for a moment she let the battle rage on before her hand rested on the door handle with a heavy sigh. Perhaps with a change of tactics she could still live with herself. She tested the handle, entertaining the belief that she might be able to silently cross the threshold to find the Elder asleep. Like martyr, she could climb between the sheets and beg for her forgiveness. Her life for theirs.

She scrubbed at her eyes on last time, determined not to let Maxson see the ugliness cloaked behind her pretty face. Her hand was met with no resistance as she turned the handle and pushed the door open, as if he had been expecting her all along. Maybe Maxson knew, with time, she would come of her own free will. There would be no conflict of interest if she came here willingly.

Once again she had fallen prey to his trap.

The door swung open and Jackie expected to find a beast of a man. A warlord perched on his throne ready to slaughter all who stood in his path to victory. Come hell or high water, he would soak the Commonwealth in the blood of his condemnation.

But what she found, hidden within the inner chamber of Hell, was far worse than the scowling, brooding Elder.

Arthur Maxson sat slumped in a chair, elbows anchored to the table with his head in his hands: a man defeated.

Jackie stood there, in the doorway, staring at what she had stumbled upon, unsure of what to do. But it didn't take her long to recognize what she saw. Gone was the ruthless Elder, and there before her was a man who had perhaps lost everything. A child forced to become a man before his time and to be the solid, unmovable example when he was still young at heart. Maxson had given everything, given his own soul, and allowed the Brotherhood to take him for all he was.

And she realized, it wasn't that Maxson was expecting her, it was that he no longer cared.

The image of Danse crumpled on the floor of the bunker, his gun in hand, burned through her mind and Jackie desperately tried to swallow the ache in her chest. She knew all too well the road this led down and she resisted the urge to go to Maxson, to ask what had happened in her absence.

The door was pushed shut as Jackie stepped through the entryway and she expected movement, acknowledgment, but not even the click of the lock engaging roused Maxson's attention. For the ever briefest of moments, Jackie thought she had stumbled in upon a dead man. But her eyes settled on his shoulders and she watched the subtle rise and fall. Maxson wasn't dead, but was he conscious? Was he even aware that she was there?

This wasn't the man she had come to resent, the man she felt warranted disloyalty. Instead, Jackie was greeted by a man far too young to belong in the position he held. A man who had been worn down by the trials of the wasteland and the overwhelming responsibility of running an entire army. Where people depended on him to make the right decisions and the lines between right and wrong blurred together.

In that moment, with her back pressed against the door, caught between giving into the urge to turn and flee or worse run to his side, Jackie pitied Maxson. His entire life had been chosen for him, decided before he even had the chance to live. But she supposed that's how it was in the wasteland, grow up quick or wind up dead before ever reaching your potential.

The man had made what choices weren't forced upon him and was left with nothing but an army of men and women who cared little about the man, but only about the name he carried. Left with no one to temper the beast within, there was only Jackie and the forced compliance. Again, she almost felt sorry for him because perhaps they weren't so different after all.

Jackie sighed as her hands twisted together again and with her heart in her throat, she dared to speak his name.

"Maxson."

At the sound of her voice there was nothing. No response. No movement or acknowledgement of her presence and no biting reprimand at her lack of formal entrance.

Mismatched eyes flicked around the room looking for evidence of malintent but the Elder's quarters were conspicuously absent of the usual empty liquor bottles scattered about. In fact, the space seemed unusually tidy. The customary, organized chaos had been tamed and it was almost as if he had cleaned house. Papers had been organized, boxes put up and his personal belongings packed away.

Something didn't feel right.

Maxson wasn't one to accept defeat or wave the white flag of surrender, but it sure as hell looked like he was giving up. If Jackie didn't know better, she might say that it appeared Maxson was preparing not to return.

"Arthur," she tried again with a step forward, sure that the use of his first name would get a rouse out of him.

Still Maxson didn't move and before she could stop herself, Jackie had taken the few steps to stand by his side. Scarred hands obscured the Elder's expression, but she knew defeat when she saw it.

Jackie caught her lip between her teeth, trying to decide what to do. The knot in her gut twisted tighter as she reached out a trembling hand to brush her fingers along his shoulder. But she quickly pulled away when she saw his body tense at her approach.

At least he knew she was there.

The uncomfortable pressure in her chest grew heavier as Jackie leaned against the table, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart as she tugged at his wrists.

"Arthur," she whispered and took his face in her hands.

His arms thumped against the table and she was rewarded with tilt of his chin and the attention of lackluster, pale eyes.

And there it was, drowning in an ocean of blue, branded in his soul, the heartache this world and the Brotherhood had created. Maxson didn't ask for this life, but it was the life he was given and he hid behind a wall of steel. Concealing his pain and loneliness. Shutting out the world and forsaking himself to be the symbol of strength.

But underneath it all was the man - _Arthur_ \- hiding within, conflicted by the decisions he thought were right. Troubled because he believed there was only one solution. Those eyes, so pale, so unguarded, revealed so much. More than was meant for her to see, and Jackie could _feel_ his aching. But most unsettling of all, was the emptiness. A burned and blackened void left behind by the sickness of the wasteland that devoured everything it touched.

Behind blue eyes, there was an unspoken understanding, he needed her. But he was too proud to admit it. So he brutally took what he needed so he didn't have to come crawling on hands and knees to seek her grace and mercy.

Time had not been kind to either of them and right then, Jackie felt for him, cared for him, and she longed to turn back the hands of time. Bring them all back to a time when life wasn't so difficult, riddled with complications and hardship.

But this was the wasteland and Maxson would have to settle for a hushed, "I'm sorry."

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment too long and she wondered if she had even spoken at all as her fingertips ran along the red puckering of her earlier unfaithfulness. But the raw and vulnerable expression quickly hardened into the unreadable face of steel. Maxson had let his walls down long enough for Jackie to see where her actions had led. To understand that retribution must be paid forward.

She owed him.

It was a game. A fragile house of cards stacked on shaky foundations. He wanted her to _feel_ it. A tug at heart heartstrings, he wanted her to hurt just as he did. And as the cards came tumbling down, she realized just a moment too late that Maxson had once again played her for a fool.

With the screech of metal on metal, Maxson was on his feet before she could even breathe a thought of escape. Quick hand caught Jackie's wrists in his grasp, as he used the sheer weight of his body to pin her against him.

"What are you sorry for?" he hissed against the shell of her ear.

The sudden shift in his demeanor sent her reeling. The instinctual urge to kick and scream, to defend herself, ground though her and it was all she could do to clench her nails into her palms and force herself to be still.

Maxson's beard scratched against her cheek as he shifted his grasp to grip her wrists with one hand. The other hand snaked up between them toward her throat and Jackie felt the vibrating hum of dominance.

It was a warning. The Elder was waiting, demanding a reply.

But Jackie wouldn't be so easily had.

"You're hurting me," she protested with a jerk of her arms and the tight set of her jaw.

His hand closed around her throat, "Tell me what you're sorry for," the deep, guttural growl caused her body to lock up.

"I-" she choked and sputtered as her hands clawed to get away, to yank his fingers from her neck and ease the suffocating pressure against her throat.

Jackie gasped for air but there was none to be had. Fear thudded in her chest as she stared with wide eyes and mouth agape. Time seemed to stretch on and on as spots swam in her vision and her surroundings ran together. For a desperate moment she actually believed that Maxson was going to kill her.

But as the darkness crept in, Maxson loosened his hold.

"I asked you a question," he spat, "and I expect an answer."

Her lungs burned as she gasped and greedily gulped down the coveted air. There was static in head and her heart turned violently in her chest, but she managed cough out a response, "I'm sorry for disobeying you," and Jackie could feel the shame staining her cheeks at her whining, "For threatening you and f-for hurting you."

She tried to swallow her embarrassment, but she couldn't hold the tears that spilled from her eyes and dripped down her face.

"And?" A gritty rumble in her ear, it seemed Maxson wasn't done with her yet.

Hot tears streaked her cheeks, "A-And for-" her voice broke because she knew what Maxson wanted and she tried to look away but his fingers caught her chin and held firm around her jaw, "for loving Danse."

"Mmm," the thick hair of his beard scraped along her cheek as he moved to leer down at her. Pale eyes demanded her compliance and she didn't miss the curling of his lips, "I think you can do better."

"Don't make me say it," she whimpered but Maxson's hand moved to tighten around her neck again, "Please!" she sobbed, not above begging for his mercy.

The watery image of the Elder's face softened ever so slightly, "Alright," and his fingers lingered on her throat before releasing his grip, "I told you, I am not an unreasonable man. Perhaps it's time you start believing me."

Jackie could only blink and stare as the unbidden tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Paralyzed by the shame of going back on her promise to not let him see her cry.

Maxson set her wrists free and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and trapping her against him, "I can give you so much more than that _machine_ ," nostrils flared with the scorn woven through the undertones of his voice and the dip of his brow.

But his expression was slowly shifting as he grazed his thumb across her lips with a gentle pressure, and slid his fingers behind her neck. Her tears were swept away by the rough pad of his thumb and for a moment it looked as if he actually cared.

Pale eyes flashed with the hunger within as he leaned down to kiss her, but Jackie turned her head and scrambled to push away with her hands pressed firm against his chest, "Please, don't," it was no more than a whisper, "I don't want this."

Even though she knew there was no going back, she hoped that she would still be allowed to change her mind.

Fingers closed around her chin and snapped her face to look at him again, "Than you wouldn't have come here." The rough growl ground against her but it seemed her resistance only fueled the fire inside him.

The last shreds of her self-respect pleaded for her to fight back. To take one last stand and Jackie supposed she had nothing left to lose, her dignity already flapping in the wind, "And if I say no?"

The hand digging into her jaw flicked away but swiftly returned with the cold press of a blade against her neck. The friction of the sharp edge of the knife dragged along her soft flesh. Her pulse thrummed in the artery just below her skin and the pointed tip jabbed at the underside of her chin. Jackie gasped in shock and the instinct to jerk away from the threat was too strong.

Her body shook as she tried to escape but Maxson was entirely too strong and easily overpowered her, forcing her to remain entangled in his arms.

"You won't," Maxson didn't say the words, but he didn't have to. The meaning was there. She would comply or he'd slit her throat, because come tomorrow, he would lose her no matter the outcome. Just like her, he had nothing left to lose.

The blade cut into her neck and she tried to respond, but all she could manage was a gurgled sob and she cried out at the sting of the knife as it tore at her flesh. The blade hovered for a moment before Maxson grunted his satisfaction and tossed the knife aside.

His fingers returned to her neck, gentler this time, and he soothed the lingering pain with the stroke of his thumb, "I thought we had an understanding."

Jackie closed her eyes and nodded with a shaky sigh, wanting nothing more than for this to be just another nightmare. That when she opened her eyes, she would awake in her bed safe and alone.

"Good girl," The jarring tone rattled her from her fantasy as Maxson patted his approval against her hip. A stark reminder that this was real. Maxson had won and the spoils were his for the taking.

Jackie tensed as his hand pushed into her hair and she didn't need to open her eyes to feel his lips just barely brush against hers.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered as he leaned into her and Jackie almost scoffed at the idea that he actually thought she trusted him.

There was no hesitation as his lips pressed hard against hers. Insistent for her response, his tongue swiped along the seam of her lips. And her mind was quickly becoming a hazy mess as she tried to counter the inevitable. She gasped at the nip of teeth sinking into her lip, allowing Maxson to claim his prize. As much as she tried to resist, Jackie couldn't stop the helpless noise that escaped her.

Their movements were rough and the kiss was all raw need and pure lust, laced with sharp pants and breathy moans. There was nothing gentle or caring about about it. Maxson greedily took what he wanted without restraint.

The firm hold he had on her lessened as he finally broke away and pushed her towards the bed.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered with the flick of his finger at the offending garments.

Jackie didn't dare look at him as she did as she was told and her clothes were discarded on the floor, but she could hear him fumbling with the clasps and buckles of his own jumpsuit. Fearful that if he caught her eye and saw the flush across her face, he might think she actually enjoyed this.

A moment passed and they stood there with nothing left between them. Maxson took her in, his eyes devoured her as she stood bare before him and in an instant, his lips were on hers. The weight of his body forcing her down on the bed.

He spread her legs with his knee and pressed his body against hers, his lips never leaving her own and Jackie expected the quick jerk of his hips, the painful intrusion. But suddenly, Maxson pulled back to stare at her with eyes full of emotions that betrayed his thoughts. The way he looked down at her, as if she was the only thing that mattered in this world, caught her by surprise and made her pulse quicken and her breath catch. It was the same expression she had seen earlier when they had been on the Command Deck.

His eyes searched her face and roamed down her body before coming to meet her gaze once again, "You're beautiful," he breathed.

Without thinking, Jackie responded, "Things could have been different," with a whisper as her fingers dragged up his back. His skin like fire beneath her fingertips.

Maxson sighed as let his eyes close and his head drop, "I know."

She didn't expect the moment to last and prepared for the harsh reality to return but the tenderness remained when he opened his eyes and leaned down to kiss her.

He trailed soft kisses along her jaw, "Jackie," he murmured in her ear, "let me show you how much I care about you."

There was prickling along her skin as warmth spread from her belly. He had never spoken like that to her. Never bother to show that he cared or felt something more. She had always been the release for his brazen need. Nothing more. But now he lavished her with gentle touches and soft kisses that had her mind swimming and before she could remind herself why she was there, he slipped inside without resistance.

Unable to hold back, she moaned at feeling of him pushing fully within her.

His head dipped to rest against her shoulder, _"Jackie,"_ he sighed into the crook of her neck.

Slowly, he began to thrust into her with gentle rolls of his hips. The fluttering heat steadily growing within her as they moved against each other. Jackie was losing herself in the moment, simply enjoying what was being so freely given and she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if things had gone differently.

At first his movements were slow and tender, building a sense of intimacy that was markedly absent from all their previous encounters. It wasn't long though before his pace picked up with quick snaps of his hips. Jackie found herself moving with him and doing nothing to hold back the soft sighs that escaped her with each thrust against her. The tension coiled in the pit of her stomach, her thighs trembling as her mounting pleasure gnawed at the base of her spine.

Jackie tried to think of Danse, to focus on why she was doing this, but Maxson was here now, and _God_ he felt so fucking good.

Her nails dug into his back as she clung to his shoulder. His thrusts becoming urgent, needy grunts as he rocked harder against her. Both of them chasing the edge of release.

Images of a dark haired man with kind eyes and a crooked smile suddenly gripped in her mind. As Maxson rutted against her, she couldn't rid herself of them. She was betraying herself and the man she loved.

But before Jackie even respond, to beg him to stop, she cried out as her release burned through her without warning and flooded her with shame. A few quick thrusts and Maxson wasn't far behind her, coming with a muffled shout into the curve of her shoulder.

White noise buzzed in her mind as they panted heavily against each other. The pleasure slowly ebbing away as Maxson cradled her in his arms. He laid above her and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes as he gently kissed the bridge of her nose. Her chest constricted, aching because there was no escape from what she had just done.

When was she able to make out his face, she was met with that same revered expression. The guilt crawled up her spine like a familiar old friend because she knew the look that stole across Maxson's brow and filled his pale eyes. She knew what was coming and she supposed she knew it all along, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Maxson untangled himself from her and rolled over, pulling her with him. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead before muttering, "I love you, Jackie."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Y'all the struggle was real. Why do I feel so dirty?! Ugh, I'll go hide in shame now._

 _I'm usually pretty good about writing in past tense only, but in my editing I found several errors where I switched from past to present. I think I got them all but if you find any please let me know so I can correct it. I've read through it several times and I'm sure there are more mistakes but I just can't look at it anymore tonight._

 _I was so nervous to post this. I hope no one is disappointed or upset. I promise I'll make it up to y'all later._


	10. Your Love is My Remedy

_**A/N:** Got something a little different for you guys this week. And I got it out way sooner than I was expecting! I couldn't post what I wanted to write yet, so this happened instead._

* * *

 _"Jackie."_ The tender utterance of her name brushed across her skin like the soft touches of his fingertips caressing her face.

Solid strength held her in his embrace. Wrapped around her and gently pulled her from the lingering state of breathless euphoria. The scratch of stubble as he rubbed his cheek against hers, made her scrunch up her face with a soft laugh. Her hands fisted tighter in his dark strands and she tugged at his hair.

"Stop it!" a breathy sound that whispered from her throat, "That tickles."

She could feel the throaty chuckle as it rose from deep within his chest. The things she felt for this man... But to put a label on it? She wasn't quite sure she was ready to admit it to herself, let alone him, how much she cared about him.

He rubbed their noses together before whispering her name against her lips again, _"Jackie,"_ and she was met with the exceeding warmth of his brown eyes as he slowly drew back.

Like dirt turned to mud after the rain, his brown eyes held her captive before crinkling at the corners with the lopsided grin that pulled across his face.

"I love you."

Those three words hovered on his lips like they belonged there. Like they had been there all along and Jackie found herself staring up into endearing affection. And she almost said it back until she remembered whose mouth those words had come tumbling out of.

"You mean you love fucking me?" Her eyebrows peaked and her lips curved into their own smirk as she teased him. Her hands migrated downwards to scrape her nails through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

He groaned as his body trembled at her touch, "No," he murmured, and scratched his stubble against her cheek again, but before Jackie could pull at his hair, his teeth grazed along her ear, halting all coherent thought, "I mean, _I love you."_

Jackie sighed at the sound of his deep timbre, soft and low, in her ear. Damn this man if he didn't know how to steal the breath straight from her chest. It took a moment for her senses to right themselves, for the static to fade from her mind, but the smile never left her lips.

"You love me like you love Martinez?" she continued her teasing.

The crooked grin faltered and his forehead began to crease as he shifted to look down at her again, "Martinez is deployed."

There was a tug at her heart at the thought that the only reason he felt the need to tell her he loved her, was because his usual late night hookups were currently stationed on the battlefront.

"What about Major Callahan?" Jackie knew she was effectively killing the mood, but he didn't get to say he loved her and then conveniently not mean it when he found himself deployed with the rest of his team, "Do you love me as much as you love her?"

Heaviness dragged his brows down with his grumbled words, "That was a mistake."

"Mhm, I'm sure," her hands retreated down his neck and across his shoulders before coming to rest just above her head. An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

She wasn't exactly sure why she felt so defensive. Wasn't she just on the verge of admitting, to herself at least, how much he meant to her? Then he went and said he loved her. Shouldn't she be having a different reaction? Warm fuzzies and blushing smiles, not bristling and prodding the coals with a white-hot poker?

Perhaps it was the current state of affairs the world was in and the resulting war that had even her name slated for deployment orders. Or the fact that his time had run out and within the week he'd be gone. Again.

And then there was the small detail that those brown eyes belonged to a man who was known to most as Dixie. A not so humble southern boy who allowed the scuttlebutt to pass through ranks that he was kind of a big deal. Army bred and born, he came with a reputation and an ego the size of Texas to match.

How could she forget, this was no ordinary man whose bed she found herself in, no this Nathan Dixon.

"Seems to me, you had your dick out at the right time," she had her defenses armed and she wasn't exactly trying to chase away her own frown, "because if I remember correctly, your little affair conveniently got you out of court-martial."

"Jaqs," the Captain was slipping in, tainting his voice, "cut it out," and the spoiling his pretty face, "I'm trying to be serious."

"You're never serious," she scoffed.

A moment ago, it was all lighthearted warmth, basking in the glow of this coveted time together. But now she was uneasy, unsure of how she felt. Unsure of what had changed so suddenly.

The hard press of his eyes made her squirm, she wasn't one of his soldiers, but he sure knew how to use that look to his advantage. She tried to look away, turn her head towards the wall, anything was better than having to stare into those eyes. But he caught her face in his hands and held her beneath that _ridiculous_ scowl.

"Don't look at me like that." Two could play this game. She nudged at his hands before she pushed her palms against his shoulders, trying to get away.

The look on his face stretched on for a moment, but in a heartbeat of time, his expression quickly softened. An unspoken _I'm sorry_ trapped in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak but quickly shut it, swallowing whatever words were on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he puffed out a breath and rolled over on his back. An arm thrown over his face as he shook his head.

The silence that settled between wasn't of the pleasant variety. Jackie awkwardly twisted her hands together above her chest, feeling guilty for how she had reacted. She should say something. Apologize. It was a cheap shot. And she did care about him, _deeply,_ but would she dare to call it love? Did she really love him? It was just, she knew how he was, and she was afraid of getting to close. Of getting hurt.

They had entered into this relationship to fulfill a mutual need. No strings attached. She knew there had been others, and she didn't mind really. But when she was with him, he made her laugh and took away the stress of being a wartime soldier. It was nice to have something to look forward to at the end of a long day. The fact that he was easy on the eyes only sweetened the deal, and she figured she was getting the better half of the bargain.

Reluctantly, she turned on her side, propping up her weight and bunching up the pillow in the crook of her elbow. Jackie leaned her head against the ball of fluff and fabric and studied the man beside her. Features hidden in the shadow of his arm, he didn't bother looking her way.

"I'm sorry," she'd made a right mess of this, but in her defense, she didn't quite understand how she felt. Or maybe she did and she just didn't want to admit it.

When he didn't respond, she tentatively reached out to rest her hand on his chest, "Come on Nate," she pulled at his hand and his arm flopped to his side, "don't be like that."

Still he said nothing, and she was met with unguarded eyes. His was a proud man, but that didn't keep the sting of rejection hidden from his eyes. Her words struck a chord, he really was trying to be honest and she'd unintentionally hurt him.

"It's just," she sighed and scooted closer. Intent on worming her way back into his arms, "You kinda have a reputation."

"Didn't seem to stop you from coming to bed with me." He made no effort to make amends, his barbed response effectively halted her advance.

It was his own low blow, but Jackie couldn't blame him for being angry, "Yeah, I guess I deserved that," she slumped over and stared up at the ceiling. For someone who could win over an entire courtroom with her charm, she sure had a way of fucking things up.

 _"Shit,"_ the curse was muttered under his breath as the mattress creaked under his shifting weight and she felt his hand on her shoulder, "Jackie-

"I mean," she cut him off, but didn't dare look at him. Afraid of what she might find or how she might feel, "It's not like we've been mutually exclusive."

A moment of silence passed. His hand retreated and she knew there was a question burning his lips, but perhaps he didn't want to hear her response.

He was inching away, "You still hooking up with Jackson?" he finally asked.

"No." Another deep inhale and she let her mind wander as she examined the dips and ridges of the textured ceiling, "Not since-" she paused trying to remember when it was she had last seen the man. It was like a punch in the gut when she realized she had stop returning his phone calls almost immediately after she started sleeping with Nate, "It's been a while."

Damn it, she told herself she wasn't going to get attached. Her skin felt all prickly and her cheeks were heating up and there was the overwhelming need, "I'm sorry," to apologize again.

Again the bed was creaking, "It's fine," and those brown eyes appeared above her. Nate's hands were on her, encouraging her with gentle touches to come back to him, "Come 'ere."

Jackie allowed him to pull her toward him. Her body curled against his and she buried her face in his chest, feeling foolish for her panicked reaction. It felt good being in his arms. Safe. As if his body was a shield, blocking out the chaos and the noise of the world happening around them.

His fingers lazily combed through her hair, his thumb occasionally stroking her cheek. And she slipped her arm around his waist, simply enjoying the sensations of being with him. Even though she had botched his confession, she would find a way to make it up to him. Falling in love with him scared the hell out of her, but it didn't mean that it hadn't happened.

But there was just one tiny, little problem.

"You're leaving soon, yeah?" she lifted her head just enough to look up at him.

To her surprise, he didn't answer right away. Instead, his ministrations stopped and the look of contentment vanished from his face. Replaced by an unreadable guise and Jackie could feel the chasm opening in her chest. All too well, she knew what that expression meant. He was leaving in the morning.

She prepared for the worst, but his words weren't exactly what she was expecting, "I saw Hassan and Nelson off today. They were the last of my company to go."

Shit. He really was leaving in the leaving morning. Tension was easing into her body again with the sickening feeling in her gut. Why had he waited until the night before his deployment to confess his love for her. God she hated this so much. This was exactly why she had panicked before and why she was panicking again now.

"And," as much as she tried, it was impossible to keep the unevenness out of her voice, "What does that mean for you?

The awkward silence was slithering between them, breaking them up with quiet distance. Jackie had gotten pretty good at reading him, but she didn't know what to make of the expression gnawing at his brow. And while her eyes never left him, he couldn't quite maintain the eye contact. The warm browns darted all around but never settled. He was keeping something from her.

She frowned and propped herself up on her elbow and gently pressed her fingers against his jaw, forcing him to finally meet her gaze, "What it is? What aren't you telling me?"

His fingers drummed against the back of her arm and she recognized the unconscious tick. He was uncomfortable, nervous even.

"Nate?"

"I-" he wet his lips and swallowed, thinking twice about his response, "I'm not going."

"You're-" _not going_. Her mouth hung open slightly and she shook her head, "What?"

"I'm not going," he repeated, but the nervousness didn't leave him, there was more.

It took a moment for her brain to catch up with what he had said, but she eventually managed to resume her questioning, "What do you mean you're not going?

"I'm not going." He was more forceful this time. Hitting home that his statement held some finality to it, _he wasn't going._

"But, you're their Captain," Jackie didn't understand, what did this mean? "You have to go."

"I'm-uh…" he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before draping his arm above his head, "I'm actually on furlough right now."

Furlough? Her mind immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. What could he have possibly gotten himself into this time? None this made any sense.

"I don't understand," she admitted with another shake of her head.

There was a slight raise of his shoulders, "I put in for transfer a while ago," as if it was no big deal.

"You put in for transfer," eyes narrowed in on him. She knew she sounded like a stupid bird, parroting everything he said, but she just couldn't wrap her mind around what he was saying.

Nate simply nodded.

"To where?" she continued her quest to uncover the truth. Although she knew the man needed some prodding at times, she just wished he would shoot it to her straight.

He fidgeted and his eyes lingered for a moment before they flicked away, "Boston."

"Boston?" Shocked, her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. Slowly her expression shifted, utterly perplexed by what she was being told, "You're moving to Boston?

"Everything's been approved. I'm just waiting for the relocation funds to be allocated."

It felt like someone had knocked the wind right out of her. She couldn't breathe, her chest heavy and tight. With the feeling of defeat clutching her heart, she flopped on to her back, and dragged her hands over her face. And here she thought he was shipping out in the morning, somehow this seemed worse. At least with deployment he would be coming home at some point. But now she didn't know when or if she would ever see him again. So much for not getting attached.

"But," she was desperately trying to comprehend what was happening and she couldn't help but feel as if she missed something as she glanced over at him, "Nate, you lead the most specialized armored unit we've got. So I'm sorry, but, what the hell is in Boston?"

He avoided her eyes at all costs for this one, and she didn't miss the slight twitch of his jaw, "A desk job."

"A wha-? I-I don't-" Jackie was floored and she did nothing to hide her complete shock. Nate lived for field ops. Out in the field is where he belonged. His element. And she was almost certain the man bled power armor grease.

"Let me get this straight," she swung back around to lean on her elbow and stare him down, "You're abandoning your career for a desk job in Boston?"

"Yeah," he just shrugged, finding stock in ceiling, "I guess so. Martinez was promoted. She's been in command since she left with the first deployment three weeks ago."

Was she breathing? Jackie almost pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"What the hell Nate? Why would you do that?" She was being given bits and pieces of the puzzle but none of the pieces seemed to fit, "You've been working on the T-60 series since before its release. You practically wrote the manual. You're the field expert."

Finally he looked at her, and there was something else within his brown eyes. She couldn't quite put her finger on what she saw, but her approach abated.

"Why would you leave it all behind?"

"Because," he reached for her, taking her face in his hands, the look of affection returning, "I realized that there is more to life than power armor and the Army."

Jackie still didn't quite understand what this all meant, but she was smart enough to know that it had something to do with her.

"You know as well as I do, our world won't survive this war. It's just a matter of time before someone drops the first nuke and the rest of the world follows." Nate had never been so sincere. Lines of worry and fear etched into his brow, "I don't want to spend what little time I have left locked in suit of armor. I want to spend it with you," his fingers trailed down her neck the across the curve of her shoulder, "Being out in the field can be grueling and lonesome. It was hell being gone for those eight weeks, and I realized I couldn't do it anymore. I missed you more than I care to admit and I was terrified that I wouldn't make home to you."

The swelling inside her was quickly quelled because this was all fine and good and sickeningly romantic, but he was still leaving her.

"Why Boston?"

"Because you're well respected and up for promotion," the smug little half grin betrayed him. He had put entirely too much time and effort into planning this, "and there just happens to be a position available in Boston."

And there it was.

The realization finally dawning on her, that none of this had really been about him. It was all about her. Nate was ensuring that she advanced her career, something that would never happen if they stayed here. It seemed he knew deep down, that she wouldn't leave him. As long as he continued in his career path, she would stick around, and her own career would stagnate.

She tried to protest, "But-"

"Everything is already taken care of," there was a bit of hesitation but he continued nonetheless, "The promotion's yours. All you have to do is say yes and sign the paperwork."

So he cooked up this plan to sacrifice his career for her. To allow her to succeed. To be with her. To create a safe life for them with the possibility of a future together. He did it all without her knowing and waited until it was too late to tell her so she couldn't refuse or talk him out of it. Perhaps she should have felt angry, but she just overwhelmed.

It felt like a marriage proposal, but the weight was so much heavier. These were their lives they were talking about. Their livelihood and their future. Nate was going with or without her and she knew now that he would be heartbroken if she didn't go with him.

How could he expect her make a decision like this without further thought or consideration, "Nate-"

"You said you wanted to be closer to your family. Boston is a hell of a lot closer to New York than Texas is," his nerves were getting the better of him. The doubt creeping in as he backpedaled.

"You want me to go with you?" She just needed to clarify, that this was what he was asking of her. Or maybe she just wanted to hear him say it.

Nate tugged at her shoulder and she settled on his chest once again, "Please come with me," he whispered into her hair before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I… This is-" Unsure of what to say, she stopped to try and gather her muddied thoughts.

This was so unlike the soldier she'd met in her courtroom over a year ago. The soldier who found himself court-martialed for drunken, disorderly conduct because he thought the rules didn't apply to him. She supposed the rules never did apply because he had gotten himself out it without so much as a forfeiture in pay. But with the way he was looking at her now, none of that really matter anymore.

"I understand that you may need some convincing, but I promise I'll prove to you everyday how much I love you." The affection held in his eyes burned her up from the inside out, "I want a future with you Jackie, and I just want to make you happy."

She was speechless. Trapped in the depths of those warm brown eyes, this man was so much more than she could have ever asked for.

"There hasn't been anyone else," as if she needed more convincing, "Not since I met you. Not since you asked me in the mess if I knew what a group of otters was called."

Jackie couldn't help her laughter, and he laughed right along with her, "That was it? I won you over by informing you that a group of otters is called a raft?"

"Mhm," the smile lingered on his lips, "That's when I knew you were different. Knew that I wanted to know everything about you."

Finally feeling the warm flutters that she should have felt all along, Jackie nuzzled in impossibly close to him. She loved the way his skin felt against hers and she just couldn't get enough.

"That was over a year ago," she mumbled against the crock of his neck.

"It's always been you. Only you," he sighed. The feeling of being held so tightly in his arms had her wishing he'd never let go, "Jaqs, you know I hate to beg, but please, _please_ come with me."

All of the fear and doubts, the frustrations, Jackie had felt before, had rapidly faded away with his words. She had found her validation, that she would be alright, that it was ok to love him, that _this_ was ok.

"Alright, cowboy-"

Before she could finish, she was on her back. His body pressed against hers and he kissed her as if he might never kiss her again. It was sloppy but it didn't matter. There was only Nate, and only he mattered. By the time he pulled away with a soft sigh of her name on his lips, his hands were in her hair and his fingers traced her every outline.

Jackie had to remind herself to breathe and that she hadn't said yes yet.

"You didn't let me finish," she teased.

"I didn't think I needed to." Their noses bumped together before he rested his forehead against hers.

"Don't make assumptions Dixie," she used the nickname to prod at him, but with his lips barely touching hers, she could feel the enormous grin that spread across his face, "I was gonna tell you I'll think about it."

"That means yes."

"No," a nip to his bottom lip earned her that deep, throaty chuckle she loved so much, "That means I'll think about."

"Which means yes." There was no arguing. She fully intended to go with him, but she didn't want to give in so quickly and hand over the satisfaction that he was right to make assumptions.

Jackie found that she was losing herself in those brown eyes of his, and she was about to tell Nate what she should have said before, but he stole a quick kiss and whispered, "I love you, Jackie."

This time she didn't hesitate in her response, "I love you too." There was only love and a bond that transcended time. No fear or doubt remained, because she knew after tonight, that no matter what happened, she would be alright. Nate would always be by her side.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Yeah, so this wasn't part of the original plan, and I know, _I know _, it's so sappy, but after that last chapter I needed to write something lighter. Don't worry, I will be back to our regularly scheduled angst sometime next week._

 _I realized I said I was only gonna write a few chapters for this, but boy has it morphed into something a whole lot bigger. Y'all wanna see this through to the end game? Probably will be pretty long if I take it that far. I may or may not have a few different endings thought out depending on the response I get ;)_

 _And trust me, none of them are what you might expect._

 _On a side note, my Carpal Tunnel has been acting up, so hopefully that won't cause any extended delays in my updates._


	11. Ten Feet Under

_How long have I been in this storm?_  
 _So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form_  
 _Water's getting harder to tread_  
 _With these waves crashing over my head_

 _I know you didn't bring me out here to drown_  
 _So why am I ten feet under and upside down?_  
 _Barely surviving has become my purpose_  
 _Because I'm so used to living underneath the surface_

 _-Storm, LIfehouse-_

* * *

It didn't matter.

Her hands scrabbled for purchase on the present as Jackie slipped through the fade. The feeling of Maxson's hands on her, ebbed away with her dwindling grasp on reality.

 _'This is our new home now.'_

Beside her was weight and warmth. And she groped through the delirium, reached for him, grasping at nothing, feeling only the panicked thumping of her heart.

 _'Don't forget to breath.'_

She strained for the calming words, with none to be given except an endless void of silence. The sudden harsh cadence of echoed footsteps snapped her to attention. Bright lights and sterile walls accompanied the hysteria of the vault. She was being guided down a corridor lined with pods as the earth rumbled beneath her feet and her vision tunneled. Focused only on the dark haired man, clad in bright blue and gold, who walked a pace ahead of her.

 _Nate._

Hushed reassurances were murmured to the small infant in his arms. Her baby. Her son.

 _'Shh… It'll be ok. Mommy's right here, see?'_

Warm, kind brown eyes smiled down upon her as her small family came to rest at the end of the hall. Even at the world's end, those eyes held an eternity of love and devotion within them. Brown eyes had captured her heart and there, stuck in the endless loop of her nightmares, they had whispered promises of safety. Renewed her hope that they would be alright. Those eyes calmed her anxious thoughts about their future and reminded her that she was alive, that she was still breathing, and that she wasn't alone.

But it was lie.

She wrestled with the inevitable, tried to deviate, yet there was nothing she could do to stop it.

This wasn't _real_ , but she was shamed into reliving this moment, again.

The cavity of grief threatened to swallow her and she desperately tried to scream at her husband that it was a trap. That they would be better off crawling back to the surface to suffer the grisly death of nuclear fallout, but her body was stuck on autopilot. Her limbs stiff and acting of their own violation, following the hollow echo of their predetermined fate.

A hand rested on the tiny body as she comforted her son. She should have snatched him up, Nate would have been so much better equipped to handle the fall of man. Even though she tried to alter their future, let it be her instead of him, the chains of time bound her to the wasteland.

Misty eyes drifted upward, fearful of the unknown, unsure of what would happen to them now, she sought solace from the hauntingly beautiful man. The cocky soldier who laughed too much and screwed around because he could. Because he understood that life was fleeting and precious. The man who had given up his career, and never looked back, because he had fallen hopelessly in love with her. The man who had given her everything she didn't deserve, including a precious baby boy.

And now they were here at the end. The moment before life moved on, and it would pass all too quickly. She would never get the chance to tell him all the little details that she adored about him. All the things she took for granted. She waited to long to say what she wished he knew. That she loved him and she couldn't remember what life was like before she met him or how she couldn't imagine living a single day without him.

She just needed a more _time_ , but it was too late.

 _'It'll be alright,'_ with a nudge of her arm, comfort radiated from the soft curve of his mouth, _'I'll see you on the other side.'_

The last time she would see him, he left her with the lingering feeling of the brush of his lips on her brow. It wasn't meant to be goodbye. Too soon it was over, and she was cocooned in the wisps of dying warmth. Slowly he was disappearing behind crystals of fogged glass.

In the darkness she screamed until her throat was raw and there was no air left to heave. And she beat her hands against nothing. Nothing at all but the cold confines of her insanity. There, in the waning light was movement, blurred figures and muffled voices.

They were coming for her baby, for her Nate. She lashed against the chains of her demons, cackling in her ear, taunting her, _'It should have been you!'_

She begged and pleaded for them to take her instead, but the sound was frozen in her throat. Never reaching beyond the vault of her own mind.

The figures were clearer now and she couldn't stand to watch it again. Her eyes snapped shut and still the scene scrolled behind closed lids. Struggling and shouting and Kellogg raised his gun.

The piercing sound of the gunshot etched in her mind, and the bullet might as well have been meant for her because she felt it. The pain and the anguish. The loss of her husband as her son was stolen away. She was drowning just beneath the surface. The waves crashing over her head, sucking in an ocean of grief. It hurt. It hurt so _goddamn much._

As Kellogg approached her pod, she was eclipsed by anger. She senselessly beat on the glass and in her madness she only had one though: she was gonna kill that bastard.

But she was trapped and there was _nothing_ she could do except scream and cry and thrash until her hands were numb with pain and her sobs were hoarse gasps. The images faded away into darkness again. She knew she was still in the pod, but she couldn't escape.

Caught in her own personal hellpit, _"Nate!"_ she pleaded, _"Please! Dixie, don't leave me!"_

Still her fists were an endless assault on the imprisonment of her pod. A relentless attack until finally the hatched lurched open and she was falling forward. But the collision with the steely floor never came. Instead she fell right on through. Falling through time and space and darkness. An endless free-fall through rage and revenge, guilt and shame that dragged her down into the fiery depths. Heat lapped at her, singed her skin, boiled her insides until she was nothing but rotting sickness.

Her pain, her punishment, the twisted revulsion of her humanity. Frozen and falling into the abyss, until something far worse viciously shook the sanity back into her.

Suddenly, Jackie was jarred back into the present. Shaking and covered in cold sweat, the desperation tore through her, escaping as gurgling sobs. Tears streamed down her face and her entire body clenched and shivered with remnants of the flashback.

There were hands on her. Clamped over her mouth, stifling her cries and on her shoulder, rocking her back to reality. Holding her down, restraining her, forcing her to be still, reminding her of the violation that had caused this in the first place.

 _"I love you, Jackie."_

 _"I love you."_

 _"IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou…"_

Over and over, the words screeched in her ears. Furthered her instability with shame that she had allowed this to happen. Those words pulled her apart, ripped away the tattered shreds of her dignity. Poisoned the memory of her husband. Invaded her mind and coiled around her grief. Lashed at her heart and made a mockery of her self-respect.

All she could think about was brown eyes and dark hair. Jackie didn't deserve the man who had risked his life to set her free. Not after this. Not after she had willingly given herself away. A truly loyal person wouldn't have come here in the first place and even if they had, they would have allowed the blade to slip across their throat. Die with dignity. It would have been the honorable thing to do.

She was a demon concealed in flesh and blood. And again she thrashed against her restraints. Against the man who held her down and robbed her of everything she had left. She was losing the battle to her madness. Insanity taking claim of her mind and she no longer had the strength or recollection of how to talk herself down. There was no air left to breath. And his hands covered her body, branding her of his touch. With the gnashing of her heart, she was sure her chest would explode.

It didn't matter. None of it fucking mattered. She couldn't pull herself back. Focus on her breathing, take in her surroundings, ease her racing thoughts, it was all just a wash to the flood of emotions.

 _Danse._ She needed Danse. She-

"Settle down!" Sharp, clear words cut through her irrationality. They were a command, not the gentle reassurances that soothed her panic in the dead of night.

 _"Danse!"_

Jackie hadn't meant to cry his name. It just fell from her mouth in her desperate state because she _needed_ him.

Another jolt rocked her shoulders with annoyance, "I'm not Danse."

God didn't she ever know it.

Maxson had broken her beyond all recognition and Jackie doubted that she would ever be whole again.

"Jackie," he shook her again, and at least he had the dignity to maintain his composure and not release his fury at her outburst, "Stop this," controlled, purposeful, he wasn't Danse, but she just needed him to keep talking. Concentrate on his words, the feeling of the mattress at her back, the firm pressure of his hands on her arms, "Look at me."

Opening her eyes meant that she would have to face the man on the other side, so she squeezed them shut just a little longer, letting the tears still trickle through the creases. Maxson's demeanor shifted as he sensed that he had finally gotten through to her. The struggle had ceased, she was still shaking and gasping for breath, but the hysteria was slowly receding.

He loosened his hold on her and pushed the matted threads of hair from her face.

"Come on, Jackie," he was gentler now, caring almost, softly touching her face and catching her tears, "open your eyes."

Finally she cracked her lids to meet the truth and was greeted with genuine concern. Maxson hovered over her, his face wrought with lines and creases, gouged deep within his forehead. He took her in, pale eyes studied every facet of her face, making sure that she wasn't about to lose it again. Exposed and vulnerable and feeling incredibly overwhelmed, a harrowing sob shuddered through her. An echo of her suffering, of the ghosts pent up inside her, haunting her every waking and resting moment.

Maxson caught her in his arms as she rolled into him, surrendering herself to her grief and allowing the unforgiving current of the ocean of loss to sweep her away; carrying her deep into its dark trenches. She let herself to be held by him, taking what comfort she could get. Lost to the uncontrollable heaving in her chest, she trembled and cried for all that she had lost, and even more for what had been taken from her.

All the while soft condolences were muttered against her skin, along her cheek, and whispered in her ear. Gradually, like the creeping thaw of cryostasis, sensations were slowing returning. But for awhile, Jackie just laid there, allowing her breathing to settle and her pulse to slow as the tremors subsided.

Still Maxson held her, running his hand along her back and murmuring to her. Who was this man who gave away his affections without pause or demand for restitution? Jackie didn't understand this man and his mood swings. In his typical fashion, Maxson would take what he wanted and abruptly send her on her way. If she dared to linger, she was met with a sharp reprimand and the storm of cold fury. Quick and efficient, that's how he liked his victories and his women.

As she lie in his arms, Jackie couldn't help wondering if there was something wrong with him. Although, who was she to judge? It had become painfully obvious that there was clearly something wrong with her.

Eventually the damning shame caught up to her and she felt uneasy, embarrassed by the episode that revealed entirely too much, exposed her instability. Now that she had some sense about her again, there was no running from the fact that she was naked in the Elder's bed, curled against him, breathing comfort from his touch.

Suddenly it was suffocatingly warm, her skin sticky and crawling with heat and she wanted nothing more than to get away from him. Jackie squirmed against him and attempted to scoot back, but his hands were all over her, keeping her still and holding her there.

Words came out as a croak as she tried to speak. Her throat was raw and cracked, having run herself dry from weeping. The mattress groaned as Maxson reached across her and wordlessly produced a bottle of water. Jackie had half a mind to smack it right out of his hand, unwilling to accept anymore of his generosity. The slow, simmering rise of anger rolled in her gut and Jackie was more than content to let the secondary emotion shadow the relentless stalk of guilt. Alas, she somehow managed a mumbled thank you and propped herself up, taking the bottle from him. Greedily she gulped down the contents before tossing it to the floor.

Maxson was observing her again. It seemed his apprehension regarding her mental state remained.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he reached for her. Ran his fingers through her hair. Caressed the curve of her hip. Hands and fingers and rubbing and stroking and fondling her skin. _Touching_ every inch of her body.

Apparently Maxson thought telling her he loved her gave him the right to put his filthy hands all over her.

"No." Jackie squirmed and pushed at his hands, "I- I just…" she shimmied away, feeling disgusted at the sensation of his fingertips skimming her naked flesh. "Get your hands off me," she snapped, grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands away.

Thankfully he didn't stop her or try to pull her back, and for a moment he looked hurt by her words. Jackie knew better than to fall into his trap and crawl back to him. She stood her ground, elbow anchored to the mattress. And Maxson remained, lazily sprawled on his side, watching, waiting.

"You said you love me."

More of a statement than anything else, Jackie saw the indifference mark his features. It wasn't the wall of steel that she had come to associate with the Elder, but it was still a barrier erected as a shield to hide his vulnerability.

"Do you love me?" she asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

Of course he did. Maxson had already confessed it and Jackie knew he meant it. She wasn't sure why she was forcing him to say it again. Maybe she just wanted to punish herself just a little more for allowing this to happen.

Pale eyes had held her gaze all along, but after a brief hesitation, he looked away, "I wouldn't have said if I didn't mean it."

"This isn't love Maxson." she gestured between them with a shake of her head. As exasperating as this was and as much as she wanted to throttle him, she almost felt sorry for the man.

The lines in his brow lengthen with his frown, "Then why are you still here?" He wasn't angry per se, more accusatory, irritated that he had let his guard down.

Jackie just sighed and slumped on her back. Her eyes roamed the metal encasement of the room. Why was she still here? She didn't necessarily hate her Elder. Hate was too strong of a word. It was complicated. The reason for her lingering now? It certainly wasn't because she had fallen in love with Maxson. She felt lonely and afraid. Alienated from the Brotherhood, from the men and women she once called brothers and sisters. She couldn't identify with half the crew because they hailed her for committing murder. And the other half muttered obscenities when she walked by for being a murderer.

It wasn't like she could readily go to Danse anymore either. She was tasked with shouldering the wasteland on her own. With no one left to help her carry the burden, Jackie felt so incredibly alone. Perhaps she really was mad, because in her warped sense of reality, Maxson provided a means to an end. Even though it was wrong, he made feel needed and it gave her comfort to know that she wasn't completely alone in this endeavor. The idea that maybe he did care about her in some way resonated with her, even if it was a lie.

She may not have returned his feelings of affection, but Jackie was still using Maxson nonetheless. Fear had fueled her motivation in the continued compliance with their arrangement and she stuck around because empathy was few and far between aboard the warship. Not that Maxson was emphatic, he was just one of the few soldiers still speaking to her - even if he was the Elder. So Jackie took what she could get, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she disappeared to hide in a hole until her strength was renewed.

Lost in thought, Jackie hadn't noticed that Maxson had encroached into her space until he appeared in her field of view. With the expression he wore, she knew what he was about to ask before he even opened his mouth.

"D-"

"Don't!" The simmering anger had instantly boiled as Jackie whipped around and clapped her hand over his mouth. She reacted so fast that Maxson grunted in surprise as he was shoved on his back by the force, "Don't you dare say his name!"

By the questioning look on his face, she knew she had let the name slip in her delirium, but she wasn't about to give Maxson the honor of repeating it.

Jackie scowled down at him and she was reminded of the kind of man the Elder was, why she was in this situation in the first place, "My husband was more of a man than you'll ever be."

Maxson blinked and grumbled something beneath her fingers before pushing her hand out of his face.

She glared at him, furious that he had even entertained the idea that it was ok to ask her about Nate. Her husband wasn't a topic up for discussion. She rarely spoke of him, not even with Danse. Now, all Jackie wanted was to be anywhere but there, and she was more than happy to let her anger carry her away, "Are you done with me?"

When he didn't immediately respond, she rolled away towards the edge of the bed. Not surprisingly, he caught her wrist, "Wait," there was desperation in his voice, "I never meant to hurt you."

Jackie didn't bother looking back, "Right," as she jerked her hand away and crawled to her feet, "I'm sure."

Her clothes had been haphazardly discarded in a pile on the floor by the bed, and Jackie scrambled to tug them back on and get the hell out of there. She'd had enough and she just wanted to escape to the safety of her quarters. She felt dirty and used and she didn't know how she would ever look at Danse again. He would never forgive her. But she would have to deal with the consequences later, because if she dwelt on it now she would lose it all over again.

So she turned and walked with quickened steps towards the door, pulling her shirt over her head as she went.

Maxson called out from behind her, "Jackie-"

"No Arthur!" She rounded on him just in time to see him swing his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to lay chase after her, but suddenly froze at her forcefulness, "I'm done," she watched for a moment as his face turned cold, "If you love me, you'll let me go."

His eyes closed with the tight set of his jaw and for a second she thought he was going to argue, leap from the bad and force her to come back to him, "Alight," he sighed, surprising her with his surrender, "you win."

For a moment she stood there fuming before she relaxed, accepting her victory. She turned on her heel and tossed a muttered, "Goodbye, Arthur," over her shoulder as she wrenched open the door.

Without a second glance and with no regard for his response, Jackie was out on the main decks of the ship, letting the bulkhead slam shut behind her. She couldn't get into her quarters fast enough, fumbling the key and cursing because she couldn't get it in the lock.

Blood beat in her ears as she poured all her remaining energy into just unlocking the damn door. Finally, the lock clicked and she shouldered the door open and fell into her room. The door sputtered shut behind her as her hands clamped around the back of her head and her arms shadowed her face.

Jackie paced in quick zigzags around the tight space. There just wasn't enough room. Cramped and stuffy, she couldn't escape, couldn't breathe - _Fuck_ she couldn't _breathe!_

Dirty. Undignified. Traitor. A disgrace. Failure.

Her skin itched and all she could feel were Maxson's goddamn hands all over her body. Touching her. Marking her. Violating her.

She scratched at her skin, trying to get the feeling of him off of her. But the incessant kneading of her fingers was useless, the feeling of him lingered to no avail.

The barely clean t-shirt and jeans were ripped off her body as she stripped down. Jackie swiped a rag from the table, not caring if it was filthy, and doused it with water from a nearby bottle. Relentlessly, she scrubbed at her skin until it was red and raw and still she felt unclean. So she dumped the entire bottle of antiseptic from her med-kit on the rag and continued to rub and pick at her skin until she cried out from the pain and frustration. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to rid herself of the tingling, aching sensation. Maxson was like the familiar burn of radiation seeping into her skin.

Inconsolable sobs burst from her and Jackie hurled the useless, filthy rag across the room.

What had she done?

The space seemed to be getting smaller as she made her rounds about the room. Consumed by the void in her chest and her swirling thoughts, Jackie realized that, without any real consciousness, her feet had carried her to the desk. Her fingers ghosted over the cool metal of her pistol and she couldn't help but wonder, _why not?_

She picked up the gun, fondled its grip, it would be so easy. Maxson was more than capable of dealing with her son without her. So what was keeping her here? There was nothing left for her here in this world so why stay? Death was easy. But life? Life was hard. Grueling and lonely and she missed her husband. So what was keeping her from pulling the trigger?

Of course she knew the answer. It was selfish and Danse would be devastated if come morning she was discovered dead with a bullet in her head. The gun was unceremoniously tossed on the desk once more and Jackie ran a hand over her face. What was she doing? She needed to get out of there, take a walk to calm her anxious mind. To sooth herself before she decided to actually follow through with her impulse.

With a sigh Jackie wiped away her tears and pulled on some clean clothes, but a pang of longing had her back at the desk, pulling open the drawer. She fished around until she found the worn and creased paper. Her fingers traced over the glossy finish. Damn she missed him _so much._ Danse hadn't exactly helped with her grieving either, he was his own brand of complicated.

As she stared at the dark haired man with the baby in his arms, thoughts of the earlier events of the day captured her attention and she remembered; Geers had withheld information from her. Even though it was late, she needed to talk to him. So she shrugged on a jacket, shoved the crumpled paper in her pocket and quietly made her way out of her quarters and down towards to the flight deck.

Jackie needed answers and Danse…? Well, Danse deserved an explanation.


	12. Premeditation

"It's dangerous to be wandering the wastes alone in the dead of night."

Jackie started at the deep voice, shrouded in the shadows of the wrecked aircraft, her boots kicking up sand as she shuffled to a stop. On impulse she reached for the pistol shoved in the waistband of her sweat pants, and cursed inwardly for not being more aware of her surroundings. In her defense, it had been a whirlwind since the arrival of the Prydwen and she wasn't exactly thrilled that she had been forcibly dragged aboard a highly flammable blimp then threatened to be thrown overboard if she didn't straighten up.

As she unholstered her gun she decided, next time she saw Danse, she was going to throttle him for withholding mission critical details regarding the technicalities of their base of operation. It had been a strenuous day full of speeches, meet and greets, barracks assignments, duty rosters and equipment issuing. There was a reason she had left the military and she was reminded not so subtly why. And Danse hadn't helped in the slightest with his infinite, arrogant brooding.

Speaking of the man, he was probably still waiting for her in the mess. She was supposed to meet up with him after everything was said and done, but instead she had sat on her bed, idly twisting her hands as visions of her life ending in a massive fireball in the sky flitted through her mind. In her restless pacing of the crew deck, she had run smack into a lanky Lancer with green eyes and brown hair slicked into the most _ridiculous_ comb over she had ever seen. As he steadied her and offered to give her a lift to the airport, she wondered what had happened to the standard issued crew-cut.

 _'Some fresh air might do you some good, you're starting to look like a caged animal.'_ He'd smiled and kindly suggested.

Danse had made it on the throttling list, Geers had made it on the thanking list and Maxson… she hadn't quite decided yet.

 _Damn it-_

There was movement in the shadows of the wreckage and Jackie saw it now, the faint orange glow and the curl of smoke twisting upon the flutters of the sea breeze.

All she wanted was a breath of radioactive air and to take a stroll along the shore to ease her nerves and here she was getting herself into trouble. Just another check mark on Danse's ever growing dislike list of things he wouldn't approve of.

"Watch where you point that thing," the figure took a drag from his cigarette and shifted from his perch in the tail of the downed airplane, "you might hurt someone."

"That's kinda the point," Jackie adjusted her aim, "Show yourself."

When the dwindling glow was flicked away and shadows faded into darkness once again, Jackie felt the prickling creep up her spine and she fired off a warning shot into the sand next to the shadowman's boots.

"Don't fuck with me! I said show yourself!" She wasn't playing this game, and she wasn't about to get herself killed, "The next one'll be the last thing you see!"

A low chuckle reverberated from the blackened corners of the wreckage, "Danse said you had grit." The figure pushed against the veil of darkness, emerging into the curtain of pooling moonlight.

A glint of pale blue, dark hair, beard, and… _Ahh shit!_

Jackie nearly dropped her gun as she fumbled to stow it away. A list of infractions ran through her head at the realization that she had her pistol drawn on - and had shot at - her now commander. No, wait. Not commander, _Elder_.

"I-uh…" _backpedal, backpedal, damage control._ Her heart was thumping from the encounter and she couldn't quite seem to form the words.

Maxson stopped to turn and gave her pause, "At ease, soldier," before continuing towards the sea.

A silhouette of darkness, the man was a black mass that blocked out the soft moonlight and created a void in the stars. Despite her mortification, Jackie moved to join him.

"My apologies, sir, but what are you doing out here?"

"Taking a walk," Maxson was impassive, gazing out across the moor of the sea.

Jackie's eyebrows scrunched together. _Taking a walk._ "I was gonna shoot you." The Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel was _taking a walk._ In the wasteland. In the middle of the night. _Alone._

"Yes, I am aware." Calm and collected, Maxson was transfixed by some unseen venue on the distant horizon and Jackie didn't know if she should be frightened or amused by his apparent lack of emotion regarding the situation.

" _It's dangerous to be wandering the wastes alone in the dead of night_ " she mocked, but she regretted every last word as soon as they left her mouth because Maxson turned on her.

He didn't say anything. Then again, he didn't have to. Pinned beneath the full force of those pale eyes, it was like being needled by ice. Somehow they made her burn and shiver at the same time. Maybe because there was wildfire smoldering in the trench of the Bering Sea or maybe simply because he had mastered the art of ' _The Look_.'

"Perhaps I should escort you back to the safety of airport." Deadpan. The Elder was not amused.

"While I appreciate the offer, I don't need your _escort_ services." Jackie immediately mashed her teeth together. What the hell was wrong with her? Apparently her lack of restraint extended beyond the reach of riling up her brooding Paladin.

Maxson surprised her with the relaxing of his features and the slightest of grins, "So I've seen."

"Might I remind you that I've got over two centuries on you?" she plowed forward while the steam was rolling, "And perhaps you should be accepting _my_ escort."

"I assure you, I am more than capable of handling myself." Still he wore that little grin. Was he playing along with her little innuendo?

Jackie chuckled softly and smirked at the thought. It seemed that he had let the wall of authority fall and allowed the ease of comradery to pass between them. She had to hand it to him, the man was intimidating, but she realized as he stood beside her, dressed in simple Brotherhood fatigues, that he wasn't unapproachable.

"You appeared skeptical earlier." With the lightened mood, Maxson took advantage of the moment to get a feel for his freshly minted Knight.

"Maybe I was," Jackie was happy to oblige as long as there was give and take.

Maxson dug around in his pockets until he produced a flip lighter, "I meant what I said."

"I am a woman of practical application; actions speak louder than words." Something she prided herself on, being able to see through the bullshit. She liked to think that she based her opinions, her reactions, on fact and hard evidence. "You talk a big talk, but I don't know how to feel about the Brotherhood yet. I guess time will tell if you'll follow through with what you've promised."

The lighter was idly flicked on, the flame burned a moment before the cap was shut with a click and dropped back in his pocket. "I'm curious... Why did you decide to accept Danse's offer to join to the Brotherhood?"

That was an easy answer, "We share a common goal." Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her pants as she took in the vastness of the unpolluted cosmos reflected off the waves of the rolling sea.

Maxson considered this, taking a long gaze across the horizon again, before asking his next question, "Then why do you doubt our operation?"

The rippling of the ocean lapped at the sand just beyond their boots and she thought about Preston, her Minutemen and the settlers. What would they think? How would they feel about the Brotherhood? "I don't doubt your organization, but some may see your arrival as an act of war."

"It is an act of war," he was firm in his conviction.

"And what about the locals?" Still the people were on her mind. She had a personal, vested interest in her home land, "They fear you're here to take over, to wage war on the Commonwealth. The people… they didn't ask for the Brotherhood's help."

"Despite what misconceptions you may have about the Brotherhood," his eyes focused back on her, "I meant what I said; I care about the people of the Commonwealth." They were stern, yet held the sanctity of compassion and Jackie could tell through the rigid exterior, he was being sincere. "Eliminating the Institute will ensure a safer future. A mutually beneficial outcome for all parties involved. I don't want to repeat the mistakes of our past and sometimes that means protecting the people from themselves."

Sincerity aside, Jackie felt defensive at his words. She was _the people_ , "And who decided it was the Brotherhood's job to do this?"

"The Brotherhood of Steel is the most capable entity to handle this task." Maxson's face was a hard line as he peered down at her, obviously he had picked up on her growing offense. "You think I don't care, that I don't understand the needs of the wasteland people."

A massive military force had descended, uninvited upon the Commonwealth. It certainly seemed that only selfish gain was at stake here.

"But I lead a successful campaign with an army that was largely recruited from the wasteland." Maxson continued, regardless of her doubt, "Wastelanders looking for a better life and a chance to help humanity. Like my soldiers, I understand that the common people are just trying to survive. The wasteland is lacking the luxury of easy living. It creates undue hardships and the people live whatever life the wastes afford them, live by any means necessary."

Again, she could see the genuineness peeking through. He wanted her to understand, to be on board because he _valued_ her opinion, "Perhaps we will never be able to rebuild the world you lost, but our goal is one in the same - security of a better future - manifested through research, development, and safe advancement of technology."

But Jackie was reminded of their current objective and some of the Brotherhood's more undesirable ideals, "And what about the synths?"

"They shouldn't exist." There was finality in Maxson's retort.

"But they do," she had her reasons and she intended to press him on the issue.

The rigid authority was settling back in and Jackie knew a warning when she saw one. "The Institute and its creations must be destroyed."

"Not all synths are hostile," she needed to know for the sake of… Perhaps she already knew the answer, but she didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to explore what it might mean, "Some of them don't even know what they are. What if one of your soldiers was a synth?"

"Infiltration-"

"I'm not talking about infiltration." Maxson was clearly irritated by her interruption, but there was a growing tightness in her gut. This was moving into the personal realm, "You said you recruit from the wasteland, so I'm asking, what if you recruited a synth who didn't know what they were?"

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Knight?"

And she was drowning in the wrath of fire and ice again.

"No, sir." It wasn't meant to be a slight. She wasn't trying to start something, and she certainly had no desire to be the sole target of the Elder's unrestrained fury. "I'm simply trying to get a better understanding of the organization I serve and the man who leads them."

Maxson seemed to accept this and relaxed slightly, stroking his beard in consideration, "There is no clear answer to your question. It's unprecedented, circumstantial and would depend largely on whether or not they acted willfully, knowingly. Exiled without question, execution would be likely, but highly dependent on the circumstances."

 _Execution?!_

The only word Jackie heard and she couldn't hide her astonishment. Appalled, she stared at him with wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock, "You would execute one of your own?"

Of course, Maxson was unfazed by her reaction, "This world," he made a gesture towards the open wasteland around them, "is vastly different from the one you knew. Leniency cannot be afforded. Exceptions cannot be made."

Jackie was well aware that her world had changed and that ignorance and lack of vigilance would get you killed. But executing one of his own men for something they may be unaware of and had no choice or control over was a hard pill to swallow. And what happened when the war was finished?

"What about after the Institute is destroyed? What will you do to the remaining synths?"

Maxson fell into his usual stance as his eyes slid from Jackie to roam the sea, "The threat will be eliminated."

"What about non-hostiles?" Jackie understood the cost and casualties of war, but she wasn't about murdering innocent bystanders. "You would hunt them down? Murder them simply because of what they are?"

"Any perceived threats will be dealt with, yes," and Maxson shifted to fully face her, intent on ensuring his message was received, "but I am no monster. I will not lead a manhunt to kill non-hostile gen-3's."

Jackie was not convinced and Maxson seemed to sense her doubt, "Let me provide an example. While we do not accept ghouls, we do not engage non-hostile, non-feral ghouls. We don't kill them for sport or hunt them down. As long they are not a danger to our operation, we let them be. If and when the time comes, the same will hold true for the gen-3 synths."

Some of the tension eased with his words. Still, Jackie didn't support the alienation of civilians based simply on what they were. She hadn't yet had the chance to fully witness the Brotherhood's ideals in action, but she had a feeling Danse's dislike list would be quickly multiplying the more they traveled together.

"The Brotherhood operates on integrity, loyalty, respect, honor, courage, self-sacrifice and duty to our fellow man." The values struck a chord with Jackie. She identified with them. Had spent her entire life striving to embody them. The link to her pre-war military was clear and she could only hope that centuries hadn't created a void for time to corrupt those core values.

"We are not animals. Myself, and everyone under my command are no different than you; we seek to create a better future." Maxson paused. Was he seeking her approval? "I know you would not have accepted Paladin Danse's offer if you did not see value in our organization."

"That's correct, sir," she did see value in the Brotherhood and for the most part, she had been greeted by soldiers of integrity. Men and women who were striving to better themselves and humanity and in a way, being here felt like home. "I do see value in the Brotherhood and feel we have much to offer the Commonwealth."

"Then allow me to show you the truth in my words," the steely facade was bending again, replaced by easy conversation. "I expect the achievement of excellence in all facets of the Brotherhood. In time you will come to find that I do not disappoint and I make good on my promises. I expect that you will not disappoint _me_ as well."

His eyes lingered, studying her, gauging her reactions, before drifting back to scout the wastes. Jackie was left with much to ponder as she kicked at sand with her boot. They basked in silence for several moments before Maxson roused her from her rumination.

"It's getting late," he observed.

"Yeah," Jackie couldn't help but go for the wide open target, "guess we better head back before people start talking."

Maxson's brows lowered at her jab, "Inappropriate, Knight," but only half way. He seemed far better equipped to roll with her punches than Danse, who scowled for days at her sarcasm.

"Move out," he ordered and nodded towards the airport.

"Moving," that's right, she could fall in line without being threatened.

With the proper command response given, Maxson fell into step beside her as they made their way back to the base.

* * *

0000 hours saw Jackie traipsing through the ruined airport. The wind whipped at her heels as it chased her down the derelict concourse. Shadows whispered in the breeze and stalked her from the darkened corners of the building where the flickering light of the fires didn't quite reach. Being here now stirred up bittersweet memories and the the feeling that the base hadn't quite been the same since Danse's exile. Everything here reminded Jackie of him and, synth or not, she still believed he deserved to be a part of the assault on the Institute - a part of the Brotherhood.

Memories of mission successes and playful banter, laughter and stolen glances, unfurled on the curling tendrils of smoke pluming from the glowing barrels scattered within the staging area for Liberty Prime. The giant robot had reached completion in the recent weeks, but there was still an issue of power. Jackie had an idea about the solution; she just couldn't seem to get past the guilt of betrayal to inform Ingram that she had the answer. Like a good soldier, Jackie had been playing along with her son's scheming then turning around and feeding the intel to Maxson. What Maxson failed to realize was that she only fed him the bits and pieces she chose to reveal.

In typical fashion, the gantry was usually crawling with scribes. Tonight, however, the airport was largely deserted with only the sentries and night patrols barely visible in the envelope of night. It seemed all operations had ceased except for essential duties. On her mission to find Geers, Jackie walked through the area with eyes drawn to the ground, making her way towards the now destroyed arrivals terminal.

Since the Prydwen's arrival, the crumbling concrete walls surrounding the building had been fortified and rebuilt. Roofing had been reinforced and laid atop the structure. Barracks had been raised in the southern half of the expanse to sustain and support the growing army. The remaining space, in the northern end, had been officially sanctioned as secured storage but unofficially served as a recreational area for the soldiers.

The forefront of the warehouse had been sectioned off to serve as lockup for the base. As the Brotherhood grew in numbers, it had become unfeasible to ship soldiers off to the police station for detainment when the need arose. The interrogation room had been enclosed in the front corner followed by a series of holding cells. The rest of the space was awaiting appropriation as the needs of the Brotherhood changed and grew.

Jackie marched on, head down with little mind to her surroundings, barely acknowledging the gate guard as she passed the threshold on her path to the nearby building. The soldier's muttered greeting lost to the wind and her introspection until she heard him drop Danse's name.

Jackie stopped dead and whipped around to glare at the armored soldier, _"Excuse me?"_

Even behind the steel of his helmet, Jackie knew he was glowering, expression much the same as hers.

She was in no mood to deal with insubordination tonight and the accusatory sass effortlessly slithered from her lips, "You got something to say, _Knight?_ "

This was the shit she had been dealing with for weeks and after the day she'd had, enough was enough. Jackie may have been out of uniform, but she would still put this soldier in his place. She stood her ground, lengthening her body as much as she could and projected her authority with the hard snap of her voice.

Silence stretched on between them as the soldier continued to stare.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" She toyed with him, "Or did your mama forget to teach you to respect your elders?" Carefully she chose her words, fully aware of the implications of using that term.

The soldier shifted and leveled his minigun at her, "I don't answer to traitors."

Jackie almost laughed at the growl that was meant as a threat, "Why don't you step on outta that dick cocoon and say that to my face?" She was all hot and twitchy and part of her wished that he would do it if only for the opportunity to punch him right in the face.

Again the silence dragged on before the soldier lowered his weapon and grumbled something about duty and abandoning his post.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she spat and lingered a moment just to scowl before stalking off towards her destination again.

Fumes were left in her wake as she tore off down the pavement, imagining all the ways she would have _handled_ the situation if the little prick had actually risen to her challenge. But like the sway of a pendulum, her mind was quickly shifting. Despite feeling justified and acting within the rights of her rank, the guilt was quick to slash away the fizzling anger. She should have just kept walking. It was reckless to engage with that soldier. What if he had acted on her threat? Sure she could handle herself, but she probably would have ended up with murder on her hands. And what would-

"Ma'am?"

Jackie jumped hearing the squeak of the young soldier posted by the door to the warehouse. Completely eclipsed by the mad ramblings of her mind, she realized she had been pacing in tight circles just a few feet away without actually taking stock of where she was.

"I…" she blinked, feeling flustered at being caught off guard.

"Did you need something?" the soldier probed.

"Uh…" Geers. Right. She was here for a purpose. Jackie quickly collected herself and managed a response, "Lance-Knight Geers, is he here?"

"I have orders-"

"It was a simple yes or no question." Jackie didn't have time for games. Orders or not, she was getting in that warehouse.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. No one in or out without prior authorization."

 _You will be sorry if you don't get out of my way._ She sighed and rubbed at her temple, somehow managing to keep the snide remark to herself. All too well, she knew that approach would not yield effective results.

The soldier shifted uncomfortably and she couldn't help but notice that he looked young. Far too young to barely even be a proper initiate, let alone charged with the task of standing guard over a warehouse full of rebels. Jackie was about to question who had slotted this kid into rotation, when she realized it was not likely done out of choice, but rather necessity. The number of troops available for active duty had drastically decreased over the last twenty-four hours and Jackie wonder how many of the Brotherhood's force were locked behind that door.

"What's your name kid?" she asked, changing tactics. Win him over with charm and kindness.

"Lemus," he was nervous, but maintained the eye contact, "Initiate Lemus."

"You from the Commonwealth?"

"Yes, ma'am." He was a scrawny teenager, who looked as if no amount of mess hall slop would be enough to fill him out.

"Local settlement?" Jackie leaned into her hip with her continued questioning.

The kid shuffled his feet and shifted the weight of the rifle in his hands, obviously trying to decide how much he wanted to tell her. His dark eyes darted around before settling back on hers.

"Sort of," he eventually decided on, "My family owned a small farm just outside the northern border of the Commonwealth. Few months ago my father was killed when raiders attacked. Without my dad, the farm was too much for my mom. So the three of us, my mom, sister, and myself relocated to a local settlement within the Commonwealth."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jackie offered her condolences and was met with a shrug of acceptance. His story was not an uncommon one and spoke volumes regarding the frailty of life and the fact that tragedy lurked around every corner. "Which settlement?"

Lemus was all uncomfortable fidgets but answered her questions nonetheless, "Greentop Nursery."

Interesting. New recruit shows up from Greentop of all places? Jackie considered that it could be coincidence but she just had a feeling that it wasn't. "You said your family's been there about three months?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded.

"How long has it been since you enlisted?" Jackie was growing impatient. This kid was forcing her to weasel the information she wanted out him.

"Little over four weeks."

She was getting closer, narrowing in on her intended target, "Greentop is a Minutemen settlement."

"That's right."

"Can't help but notice you're shacking up with the Brotherhood now."

The young soldier squirmed beneath her pointed gaze and looked away under the pressure. Again, he was trying to decide how much he would tell her.

Finally he spoke, "In recent weeks a trader started frequenting our settlement." Ah, and there it was. The explanation she was phishing for, the confirmation that her suspicions had been correct. Apparently Lemus had correctly decided that her allegiance was worth keeping. She had him now.

"I'm an alright shot so I was assigned to guard detail." Every so often his eyes shifted, scouting the area to make sure they weren't being watched or overheard. "This trader, they kept to themselves mostly, just coming now and then to trade for supplies, though I kept a close eye on the guy. Something seemed off. He was too well fed, too well dressed to be a common wasteland merchant living alone off the land. Not to mention, he always kept his face hidden."

Jackie frowned. She knew the settlers at Greentop wouldn't know who her trader really was, but she hadn't considered what would happen if one them started poking around. She figured no one would notice enough to care and really, it didn't matter anymore now.

Lemus snorted, amused at his own thoughts before continuing, "So one day this trader passes by my post, looks me over and says, 'You're going to get yourself killed with that substandard weaponry.' "

A bark of unintentional laughter escaped her at the piss-poor impression before she could stop it.

"Guess the guy didn't appreciate my pipe pistol," he chuckled in return. "Anyway, few days later the trader shows back up with this," the kid motioned to the rifle in his hands. "I'm smart enough to know that it's Brotherhood standard issue, so I asked the guy if he had ties to the Brotherhood. He gave some vague answer saying he was loyal to our General, but the General also serves the Brotherhood."

"So…?" Jackie prompted.

"So I joined the Brotherhood because I figured this General was worth meeting for myself."

The realization hit her that perhaps there were other soldiers like Lemus. Loyal to the Minutemen, but hiding amongst the Brotherhood because the Minutemen faction didn't have the resources to train them properly and their General held an important position amongst the Brotherhood ranks. The more she thought about it, the more Jackie could see a shift in loyalties of the Brotherhood soldiers. The ambient comments made around the base had been less about the soldier's undying love for Maxson and more about their admiration and respect for her. Some even calling her an inspiration. Whatever the underlying reasoning, it seemed Maxson had been slowly losing the support of his troops.

"The Brotherhood, they been treating you well so far?" She had what she needed and it seemed obvious, but she was curious if Lemus would divulge any further opinions of the current situation.

"I do what I'm told, follow orders," he clammed up, standing tall again, not willing to freely give up his personal opinions at the moment.

"That's not what I asked."

"That's the only answer I'm willing to give," his eyes were firm and Jackie knew better than to try and push it any further.

"Alright," she stepped forward, "You didn't see anything, Initiate, return to your duties," and reached for the door handle.

Lemus' eyes swept the area, "All clear, ma'am," and he side stepped granting her access to the door, "Stay safe out there."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ First of all, a huge thank you to Magpie_XIII for listening to my incessant ramblings and providing invaluable feedback to help lay the groundwork for the next few chapters. Also THANK YOU to MaxRev for taking the time to beta read this for me. This has been such a fun and enjoyable experience, so thank you!

A lot of thought, time, attention to detail, planning, and careful examination has gone into getting this plot line right, so if there is something that seems off, you don't agree with, or have questions about, please feel free to contact me. I am happy to explain my reasoning behind the direction I have chosen to go.

I've got a good portion of the next chapter written, but y'all are gonna have to wait until at least next week. The dialog requires some special finessing.

So in RL I went to visit family, left my laptop on the plane in the seat back pocket, found my writing floating around reddit of all places, and reconnected with the outdoors. It's been a busy three weeks.

Thanks for waiting and even bigger thanks for reading!


	13. Making a Mutiny

The harsh pooling of light from industrial domes had Jackie blinking and squinting as she entered the warehouse, trying to compensate for the stark contrast of night. After a moment, her eyes adjusted and she was greeted by a sea of orange. The warehouse was filled with soldiers and it appeared the majority of the Brotherhood's forces were either detained or guarding the rebels.

Astounded by the sheer number of soldiers contained in the one area, Jackie immediately felt the downward pull at her gut. Her old friend settled heavy in her chest with the weight of knowing she had, in some part, caused this. The coup had left the airport, the Prydwen, and the entire operation extremely vulnerable. If the Institute mounted an attack at this moment, it could cripple or even destroy the Brotherhood, and she couldn't help but feel the burden of responsibility.

Murmurs of unrest, lack of trust in Maxson's leadership, and a general distaste for the direction the Brotherhood was headed, had started some time ago. Even before Danse's exile, Jackie had heard whispers, but there was no denying she had been the catalyst to trigger this. Whether Danse had planned this or not, her going to him last night had caused an irrational reaction and set the whole thing in motion.

The innards of the warehouse had been sectioned off, groups of soldiers contained to specific areas with sentries assigned to each section to maintain order. Guards patrolled the expanse as well, weaving in and out of the rebels on high alert, ready to subdue mutiny by any and all force necessary.

As Jackie stood surveying the situation, just inside the doorway a movement to the right caught her attention. A Paladin clad in full power armor posted outside the interrogation room shifted and cleared his throat. Of course. The ranking officer here _would_ be parked in front of the door that held Brotherhood enemy number one. An ugly huffing of breath lodged in her throat at the irony of the situation.

Maxson had gone to great lengths to mark Danse a traitor, painted him as dangerous and an Institute infiltrator. He'd lied to his troops. Told them that Danse was a plant, that the widely respected Paladin had betrayed them all, fed information to the Institute, and Jackie had done right by her duty in putting him down. Maxson had never been so wrong and, even with all the lies, his troops had still rebelled.

It made her sick, bile churning in her gut just thinking about what this had done to Danse.

His life had become a meaningless lie. The cruelest of jokes. The Brotherhood had turned Danse into an object. A thing to be feared and hated beyond all measure. He had been convinced his life no longer held any value, that he no longer had control of his fate. Jackie remembered him telling her that he was proud of her, that this was the right thing to do. The honorable thing to do. Yes, the man - that brave and steadfast soldier who was ready to take his own life, who had no words but weeping when she had returned to him after her promotion - was dangerous. An Institute plant, an infiltrator, a traitor - a machine.

Bullshit. Jackie could only hope that Maxson would rot in the depths of Hell for what he had done.

As the black hole contained within threatened to consume her and her world imploded around her, Jackie jammed her hands in her pockets and forced herself to move on. But the small, folded paper caught against the palm of her hand and her eyes dragged back to the armored Paladin and the door he was so firmly guarding. There was suddenly lead in her pocket and dead weight in her chest. Slowly her fingers, sheathed in the fabric of her pockets, curled in on themselves. Inhale. Exhale. Desperation bloomed from within.

 _Go now! Make a run for it!_

Her mind egged on her irrationality. It was only a flimsy door standing in her way. Sure, she could push past the guard, strong arm her way into the room.

But with the desperation came the overwhelming feeling that she no longer held any claim to the man contained within that coveted room. The rising flood of self-damnation rushed in from the shoals of insanity. It gnarled her insides and halted her advance. Again her skin itched, branded with the lingering sensation of Maxson's hands covering her body. She couldn't stop the unwanted images, playing on an endless loop in her mind, bringing with it an accompanying disgust that at one point, she may have felt something more.

Danse deserved better.

With the understanding that she would be shot if she even looked at the Paladin wrong, Jackie forced the deluge of her internal conflict down. She would deal with Danse and her convoluted emotions, but it would have to wait.

She breathed in and with a practiced calm she spoke, "I'm looking for Lancer-Knight Geers, can you tell me where he is?"

The officer stared, expression obscured behind the mask of metal. It seemed he was going to write her off until his gaze shifted and he motioned for a patrolling soldier, "Knight-Captain Andres," he called and waited until the woman strode over and stood beside Jackie. "Take the Paladin to Geers."

The woman, Andres, looked Jackie over and scrutinized her with a scowl that rivaled Danse on a bad day. Her dark hair, slicked back into a severe bun, pulled taught the tawny features of her face. And her eyes, Jackie couldn't tell where her pupils ended and the nearly black irises began. They were an endless storm of darkness that left Jackie cold, squirming to get out from under her pointed gaze.

Andres' unpleasantness persisted. Her brows dragged down as she continued to stare before her eyes flicked away, narrowing in to press the armored Paladin, as if to say, _'I don't have time for this shit.'_

"Knight-Captain." It was a warning from her Paladin, ' _Do as you're told. Don't make a scene. Not here. Not now.'_

There was a moment where static popped between them, licking tension into Jackie's skin before Andres ground out a, "Yes, sir." She turned on her heel without a second glance or acknowledgement from Jackie, forcing her to quickly fall in line at a near jog to keep pace. Her limbs doing double time because Knight-Captain Andres was more than a head taller than she.

Andres' brisk march led them through the maze of soldiers littered about the warehouse. Men and women sat hunkered on the ground or slumped against the walls and supply crates. Some of them paced idly in the small space they were given and Jackie wondered what they were thinking. Would they hold fast to their convictions to rise against the Brotherhood or did they question what they had done? Now that they were locked away, with their freedom and their lives on the line, did they regret the decisions they had made? Did they regret following a traitor - a synth - to turn against one of their own?

Not paying attention and not realizing that they had arrived at their destination, Jackie cursed as she nearly plowed straight into Andres when she stopped.

"Ma'am," Andres clipped. She had led Jackie to the northwestern corner of the warehouse and either didn't notice or chose to ignore the oversight as Jackie stumbled backwards. "Over there." She pointed to a man slouched in the corner, head lolled to the side, mouth strung open, snoring.

Jackie quickly collected herself, "I need to speak with him, in private." Andres regarded her without so much as acknowledging that Jackie had spoken. "I just need to ask him some questions. I'm out of uniform, unarmed, and outnumbered. I'm not gonna try anything."

With the expectation of an argument, or a disagreement simply on principle, Jackie was surprised when Andres agreed.

"Fine," the Knight-Captain sighed. "Get him up and meet me at the back door," she nodded to the nearby exit at the back of the building.

A muttered thanks went unnoticed as Andres stalked off and Jackie paced the few feet forward to stand over Geers. For a moment she considered gently nudging him awake, but the anger she had been carefully stuffing away in the things-to-deal-with-later box suddenly had her tossing all rationality aside. Jackie felt hot about being left in the dark regarding this whole thing and irritated that she had been led to believe she was in this alone.

"On your feet soldier!" Jackie ordered as she forcefully kicked his boot. Geers jolted awake, green eyes blinking wildly in confusion. "Get up!" she growled as he stumbled and scrambled to get to his feet, not quite getting his limbs to work right.

Jackie watched, arms crossed, as Geers' eyes cast about, his head swiveling back and forth, attempting to figure out what was going on. Soldiers sitting close by stared, but no one else dared to move or question what was happening. Finally, the fog of sleep began to dissipate and clarity unfurled in his eyes as Geers realized just who was ordering him around.

"Jackie…" his shoulders relaxed as he breathed out his relief.

"You will address me as Paladin or ma'am," Jackie wasn't having any of it. Geers liked to think his shit didn't stink, but she had waded through enough bullshit over the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.

Geers recoiled slightly at Jackie's harshness, his features coming together for a brief moment, as if her words and her tone hurt him. But then he straightened up and stood at attention.

"Am I understood?" Jackie had to remind herself not to feel bad for the severity of her words because he had hidden this from her.

"Yes, ma'am." Geers gave a nod in understanding.

"Good. Now march your ass over to Andres," she pointed to the soldier standing by the back door, "we've got business to discuss."

Geers did as he was told and set off in the direction of the Knight-Captain with Jackie close at his heels. Upon reaching Andres, she pulled open the door for them and once again Jackie was greeted by the shadows of the night. The stench of the rotting wasteland and sticky seaside air was an assault on Jackie's already gurgling gut.

A hand on her shoulder, "I'll keep watch." Andres was stern. Her eyes held no compassion, held nothing but the dull light of the moon reflected in the onyx abyss. "But understand, if you venture out of eyesight or do anything that is perceived as a threat, I won't hesitate to pull the trigger - on either of you."

Jackie could feel the prickling of defiance scratching just beneath the surface, "Yeah, I got it," she scowled and shrugged off Andres' hand.

With a flick of her wrist, Jackie signaled for Geers to move out down the beach. They walked in silence along the edge of the water towards the airport, until they were out of earshot but still within Andres' field of view.

The pair of them stood around awkwardly when they eventually came to a stop. Neither one wanting to address the giant deathclaw in the room. Geers kicked at the sand and Jackie clamped her hands together, resisting the nervous urge to twist her fingers around her palms. She breathed in with her eyes turned skyward, reminded of the very first time she had prowled the shores of the airport.

' _It's dangerous to be wandering the wastes alone in the dead of night_.'

It felt like another century, locked away and frozen in the vault, had passed since that first night here.

"I'm guessing you're not here to break me out?" Geers' voice finally rang out, yet it was but an echo to her nostalgia. Lost to vast cosmos above, Jackie brushed him off, allowing the caress of tranquility to hover for moment before she brought down the rain of hellfire. "I'll take that as a no," he responded to her prolonged silence.

It's not that she hadn't heard him and his sarcasm didn't go unnoticed. Jackie shifted her gaze back down from the stars and glared at the flippant man she had befriended for reasons that escaped her at the moment.

"William Geers, you owe me an explanation!" Jackie scolded as she folded her arms across her chest.

"So we back on a first name basis?" It was an attempt to defuse the situation, but she had already unshackled the beast and she wasn't about to back down now.

"You lied to me!" It was stifling outside and she didn't know if it was from the incoming tide of fury or the broken, apocalyptic weather patterns. Either way, she was burning up.

"I didn't lie." Green eyes pleaded with her that there was more to the story.

"Withholding information, omitting the truth, is still the same as lying." Some of the anger crumbled away just enough to let the hurt in her voice slip through.

"I-"

"You staged a coup!" The moment lasted only a heartbeat of time before Jackie was back on the offensive, grabbing the front of Geers flightsuit and yanking him down to her level.

"It wasn't just me," his arms flailed as he stumbled forward, almost knocking Jackie down with him in the process.

Her mind swirled with pent up emotion. "Then why wasn't I in on it?!" she shouted.

"Because it wasn't supposed to happen!"

Geers threw up his hands in defense and Jackie realized it was the hysteria, the madness, settling in again. She could feel herself teetering dangerously close to the edge and instead of tumbling down into the chasm, she released Geers and stormed off to the water's edge.

The rancid sea rolled just beyond her feet and water sloshed as the tiny waves broke upon the sand. Jackie gazed out over the bay and the city that lay in ruin beyond. Here and there, scattered across the city, was the hint of orange light, glowing from the fires that barely kept downtown alive, but Boston was eerily quiet tonight. All vertibirds had been grounded and non-essential squads had been pulled back and those that remained in the field were told not to engage unless in self-defense.

"You hadn't told him."

The voice beside her made Jackie flinch. She had missed the crunch of sand beneath Geers' boots as he approached. All traces of hostility had vanished from his face and Jackie supposed that's just how he was. Easygoing and laid-back, a born mediator, Geers had always just rolled with things as they came. Honestly, Jackie was surprised that he had stuck around with the Brotherhood so long. The rigid standards and ideals of the Brotherhood seemed to clash horribly with Geers' personality.

Jackie sighed, "No," and scratched at her skull, "Not until last night."

The anger was fading and was quickly being replaced by the unbearable weight of feeling responsible for everything that had happened.

"Tobin noticed the bruises a few weeks ago." An apology was offered in his sidelong glance, "Figured you stopped disappearing because you couldn't hide it anymore."

"I shouldn't have gone back." With a slight shake of her head, Jackie tried to no avail to hold back another wave of emotion, "If I had waited until the Institute was dealt with, I could have just left. _We_ could have left."

"It never would have been that simple." There was compassion in his green eyes. No traces of pity hidden amongst the tiny flecks of brown illuminated by the reflecting moonlight. Creases framed those eyes and with them came understanding, regret, and above all else, respect. "You know that."

There were tears burning in the wellspring of her eyes again, "I couldn't…" her voice cracked and she let her heartache crest the rims and silently roll down her cheeks, "I just _can't_ _do this_ anymore. It's tearing me up. All of it. Everyone expects me to be someone I'm not. I'm no saviour. No hero. I'm just a housewife who got dealt a shit hand."

Geers didn't respond, just laid a hand on her shoulder. Telling her, without the need for words, that an explanation was not owed to him. For awhile they remained like that, watching the rise and fall of the sea and the reflection of the stars as the night stretched on. While Jackie let the sand be stained by her tears, only to be washed away by the foam of the sea as the little waves rippled at their boots.

Eventually Geers' slid his arm around her shoulders and broke the solitude, "I'm sorry," he whispered and the silence endured a moment more before Geers asked, "So we straight?"

"Yeah," Jackie breathed out and leaned into him, slipping her arm around his waist as she dragged the sleeve of her jacket across her face, "we're straight. But you gotta fill me in on how this happened."

With a slight squeeze of her shoulder, Geers pulled away. "Okay, but first answer a question for me… why'd you join the Brotherhood?"

 _'Why did you decide to accept Danse's offer to join to the Brotherhood?'_

"What?" Jackie blinked, surprised at his question and the words that echoed in her mind.

Apparently he misinterpreted her reaction to mean she thought he wasn't serious, "Humor me, ok?"

Tired of feeling sad and for no other reason than wanting to be brash Jackie answered, "For the power armor and hot guys. What other reason is there?"

"Alright, smartass," Geers gave her shoulder a shove, but couldn't quite contain his smirk, "and I joined up because I like to play with big guns."

"I see how you look at those gunships," Jackie winked with her own crooked grin.

"Oh yeah," he rolled his eyes, "that's it. You got me."

It started as an unintended snort, but quickly spread to the uncontrollable, gut wrenching heaving of her belly. For a few long minutes Jackie laughed. Really laughed and she couldn't quiet seem to make it stop. She laughed until she was clutching at her side and her eyes were watering yet again, and she realized she had forgotten what this was like. Comradery and friendship, the momentary weightlessness of feeling carefree.

"Yeah, yeah, have a go at my expense." He gently knocked into her. "Power armor and hot guys, huh? Competition's pretty fierce, guess that immediately eliminated me from the candidate pool."

Jackie's smile slowly faded as she tried to regain her composure. "Not that you were ever interested to begin with."

"Ain't nothin' personal sister, we all just knew better than to dick around in Danse's personal affairs." With that Jackie's eyebrows rose and Geers shrugged as if it was no big deal, "It's not like it was a secret. Maybe nothing was happening behind closed doors but we all knew."

What had the crew thought they'd known? Had they seen the way her eyes followed Danse as he roamed the decks? Or witnessed how his hand always seemed to brush against hers? A subtle reminder that he was always close by and that he would never drift far. Did the soldiers know how much they needed each other? How they relied on each other? Not only out in the field, but on the battlefront of their inner conflicts? But maybe it was obvious that they were more than just two soldiers fighting through the bloodshed and heartbreak of war. Even though they were just a couple of knuckleheads, too proud and too afraid to admit it, Jackie knew even back then they loved each other.

"Anyway…" Geers shifted his weight and looked over at her again, "you didn't answer my question, why the Brotherhood?"

"You know why. I needed to find my son," Jackie pushed aside the memories and tossed a glance over her shoulder at Andres. The soldier was still standing by the door, rifle held at the ready and eyes never leaving her and Geers, "and Danse kinda begged. Don't get me wrong, he was an intolerable ass about the whole thing, but I kinda bought into his sob story about helping mankind. Didn't realize enlistment came with stipulations."

"Would you still have joined if you knew how things would turn out?" Geers kicked some debris out of the way and sat on a washed up barrel.

 _'Exiled without question, execution would be likely, but highly dependant on the circumstances.'_

Jackie had known all along what she was getting into, known the risks. And still she proceeded. In the end, she wasn't sure why she had expected a different outcome. Maybe because back then, Maxson had seemed genuine, trustworthy, like he really did care. And she had allowed herself to be convinced that if the situation arose, he would do the right thing.

"I don't know." It wasn't a lie, but had she known the extent, the depth and breadth of the meaning of betrayal within the Brotherhood, _she_ would have reacted differently. Been proactive, instead of reactive.

"And you?" she looked down at Geers, "Why did you join?"

He shrugged, "Similar reasons I guess," his eyes shifted to peer out across the bay, "I was no one before the Brotherhood. Scouring the wastes, surviving anyway way I could, trying to make a life for myself. I had nothing to live for. So when I heard the Brotherhood recommissioned the vertibirds, I figured what the hell."

Again, Geers was grinning up at her, "It was the gunships, I just couldn't resist."

"Yeah I know," she plopped down next to him, "you're hard for your aircraft, but what does it matter why I enlisted?"

"The point is, Maxson is no fool." Geers leaned forward to draw shapes in the sand. "His intent was to spread the influence of the Brotherhood, cover the eastern seaboard and beyond. An army gains leverage through numbers and Maxson gained numbers through recruitment," he checked Jackie with raised brows, "You following me so far?"

The eyeroll was unintentional, but it was a stupid question, "I was in the military before the bombs fell; I know how this works."

"Alright," he put up a hand, "I just want to make sure we're on the same page." With a nod from Jackie he continued, "A good portion of the East Coast Chapter was recruited. We joined for similar reasons, to make a better life for ourselves and to help mankind and the shallowest of us just wanted access to military grade weaponry; power armor, energy weapons, vertibirds. Common wastelanders looking for a better life because they were alone and the wastes had nothing left to offer."

 _'I lead a successful campaign with an army that was largely recruited from the wasteland. I understand that common wastelanders are just trying to survive.'_

Maxson's words stuck in her head and Jackie wondered if he had actually believed them or if they had simply been delusions of grandeur, spouted from a charismatic young leader to rally his troops for war.

Geers returned to his musings in the sand, "In your pre-war military, why did you follow orders?"

"Orders are orders." Jackie scoffed. "No matter which military you're in or who they come from, you do what you're told." She stared at him like he was a two-headed idiot. "Back in the day, if you disobeyed orders you got harassed, reprimanded or court-martialed, given extra duty or put on punishment detail; toilet sanitation, toothbrush floor scrubbing, cleaning the barracks for hours on end, PT until you vomited and collapsed from exhaustion, all manner of meaningless crap."

"It's not any different in the Brotherhood."

"Don't I know it." The ugly expression was still etched on her face. "Someone's gotta do the shit no one else wants to do and it might as well be me for running my mouth."

The things Danse, or worse Kells, had made her do because she didn't know how to shut-up. She was foul-mouthed and obstinate and it wasn't that she couldn't follow orders, it was just too easy to push Danse's buttons and all too much how she loved to watch him squirm.

Geers had turned his eyes on her again and he opened his mouth but, "Don't even go there," Jackie checked him before he could get the chance to question her about her insubordination or any number of fitting reprimands.

There was no hiding his amusement as Geers leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, but he wisely chose to continue. "So Maxson's got an army of wastelanders who have no prior ties to the Brotherhood and follow orders because, well, orders are orders."

"I get that." Jackie stretched out her arms behind her and leaned back against her palms.

"Well, this poses a problem because, even though the soldiers pledge their loyalty to Maxson, his name really means nothing to them." Geers pointed out, "He's the commander, but they would be loyal to whoever was in that role. You could replace Maxson with a monkey and as long as it led a successful and victorious strike against the Institute, the troops would all be, _hail Monkey Maxson!_ A lot of the soldiers are loyal to the Brotherhood, not necessarily Maxson."

Jackie sniggered at Geers' crude reference of Maxson, but thought about her own loyalties. Why had she stuck around when she didn't necessary support all the tenets and goals? The intolerance never sat well with her. It was hard to believe that in 2288 they were still squabbling over _what_ someone was. Weren't their better things to be worrying about in the wasteland besides ghouls and synths? Besides what makes a man? What makes a _person_?

The answer? It was complicated. Jackie was too entrenched with the Brotherhood now. She had put all her eggs in one basket, though at first she hadn't minded. When she had first crawled out of the vault, Jackie had needed the structure the Brotherhood provided. She felt like she fit in here and had even made friends. And of course, there was Danse. As long as Danse was around, she wasn't sure she would have been able to leave even if she wanted to.

"And let's just say that not everyone has been happy with Maxson's leadership." As Geers continued, Jackie gazed skyward upon the stars, "Many of the soldiers born into the ranks were Lyons supporters. That was before my time, but I've heard not everyone has been happy with the change in leadership and policy."

Low clouds had moved in leaving vast blots of darkness in the sparkling skyscape above. Indeed, Jackie had met people herself who had essentially defected over Maxson's choice in direction for the Brotherhood. She'd also had a few interesting conversations with currently enlisted soldiers who hadn't been happy with Maxson's rigid intolerance and increasingly volatile and seemingly heartless tactics.

"When Maxson took over, he had a pretty powerful and realistic goal of how to operate the Brotherhood." The wind had picked up and threads of tangled hair brushed across Jackie's face as she watched the clouds continue to blow in, "He did a lot of good and when we came to the Commonwealth, we came here under the impression that we were here to help. Not cause more destruction, not alienate the people. Somewhere along the way, the focus shifted. It's no longer about creating a safer future by upholding the tenets, it's about war and power and victory no matter the cost."

 _'I care about the people of the Commonwealth... The Brotherhood operates on integrity, loyalty, respect, honor, courage, self-sacrifice and duty to our fellow man... We seek to create a better future.'_

At the time, Jackie had felt moved by and had believed in Maxson's speech, but it seemed the Elder had fallen so far away from those words, now it was hard to imagine that he had even said them in the first place. She wondered if he had been playing her all along.

"I'm sure you've heard things. Soldiers aren't happy with where Maxson is taking the Brotherhood." Geers nudged her elbow, attempting to draw her attention back to him. "Even before this mess with Danse, people were talking."

"Yeah," Jackie confirmed as she pulled her hair up and out of her face, "I've heard the rumors."

"Well not everyone was dancing in the streets over the execution of the synth traitor." A look of disgust passed across his features, "I'm sure Maxson had heard the rumors too and some of us thought it was a hoax, a cover up to get Danse out of the picture."

"But why Danse?" While she knew her reasonings, Jackie wasn't quite sure why the rest of the troops had rallied behind her Paladin.

"Danse may not have been the highest ranking officer here, but he was one of the most respected." It seemed Geers had an explanation for everything. "He reported directly to Maxson and was the strong arm of the infantry. He was - _is_ \- well known and well liked among the soldiers. It's just a theory, but Maxson likely knew that if there was going to be a coup, Danse would likely be the one his troops would rally behind."

Jackie had witnessed first hand the respect Paladin Danse had commanded. The Initiates looked up to him, sought him out for guidance and support during training. His opinions were held in high esteem with the officers and despite his own self-doubt, the Knights and Scribes felt a sense of pride and honor to be able serve under the Paladin. It had never really occurred to Jackie how deep the loyalty of the troops ran in support of Danse.

"Sure he's an arrogant, bossy, intolerant ass," Geers paused to give them both a moment to snigger at his very accurate description of the former Paladin. Although, Jackie could attest to the fact that Danse was not the same man he used to be, "but he's a good man and he embodies what it truly means to be a soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel. He cares about his soldiers, puts the needs of others above himself, and I've never met someone more loyal. I'm convinced even now he bleeds orange. Not only does he seek to uphold the tenets of the Brotherhood, he cares deeply about people."

Again, Jackie studied the thickening blanket of clouds in the sky. The stars were few and far between now and the gusting wind was tainted with the scent of earth and rain. A storm was brewing in the west and she could almost hear the distant roll of thunder. Yes, that's who Danse _was_ but now she wasn't so sure. So much had changed over the past six weeks. He had begun to heal and grow. Sure, there were times when the man still struggled, but he had changed. He had begun to move on.

"People really thought Maxson set Danse up?" She knew Haylen thought it was a setup. She had made that clear in Quinlan's office, but why would anyone else?

"Yeah, a lot of us did. Well, I guess we still do." Geers paid mind to the sky now too, pausing to take in the billowing clouds. "At first we thought it was just some kind of cheap trick. Haylen got her hands on a copy of that holotape. She said she found some sort of anomaly."

"What do you mean?" A streak of lightning illuminated the backdrop of downtown in skeletal shadows.

"I'm not exactly sure," he admitted. "You know Haylen though, I don't understand half the things she says. She tried to explain it, said the Institute had Danse's info, picture, DNA and it matched what the Brotherhood had on record, but there were inconsistencies. Something to do with the other synths on that list. Like maybe the information had been tampered with."

It was surprising to hear that the soldiers actually thought that Maxson would go to such lengths as to plant evidence to set Danse up. Although Jackie had her reasons and she had a feeling she knew the underlying cause for these _inconsistencies,_ she also knew without a doubt that the information hadn't been tampered with. She was however, willing to let Geers believe it was to gain the allegiance of the troops.

"You really think it was tampered with?" Jackie was careful to keep her face neutral; she was just here to gather information, not raise suspicions.

With a rumble of incoming thunder, Geers pushed himself to his feet, "I mean I wouldn't put it above Maxson."

Jackie chewed on her lip as she considered everything Geers had said, "So you, Haylen, Tobin and the others have been secretly planning a coup?" The dark clouds were thick and heavy and the smell of rain saturated the air.

"Yeah, I guess so." A hand was outstretched, an offering to help her to her feet. "The rumors were just rumors until you and Danse located the bombs in the glowing sea. Haylen and Danse were at the facility making sure everything was accounted for. I was helping run transport and was about leave to pick up the last of the bombs when Tobin stopped me on the flight deck. Shoved a holotape in my hand, told me it was urgent and to get it to Haylen as soon as I got there."

Danse had never told her what had actually happened that day. Just that Haylen had helped him.

"Danse never made it back to the Prydwen." Another flash of lightning lit the city. "Haylen convinced him to leave his power armor in the glowing sea and I dropped him off just outside Cambridge. Haylen wouldn't tell me where he was going, but before he left, she tried to convince Danse to go back and confront Maxson. Told him it had to be a setup and that we would back him up." The wind was beginning to whip up the sand and churn the little ripples into full fledged waves. "The damn loyal idiot wouldn't do it, said he wouldn't tear the Brotherhood apart."

If Jackie had known the full story, known exactly what was going on, she would have reacted differently. Then again, maybe it was for the best. Because had she known, when Maxson showed up at the bunker, she likely would have just shot the bastard.

"And how come no one ever told me about this?" Her arms were folded across her chest again. "You and Haylen knew and you never bothered to mention 'hey we're making a mutiny?' I would have helped."

"We never told you because, like I said, it wasn't supposed to happen." He looked past her, over her shoulder at Andres, "Danse refused to be a part of it and without Danse we didn't have any leverage."

Jackie followed his line of sight and saw that the Knight-Captain was still watching them, ready to strike if either of them stepped out of line. Although she suspected Andres was moments away from harassing them about the impending inclement weather. "But you still spread the rumors. You still had a plan."

"It was a contingency plan. It didn't take long to figure out that Maxson was using you-"

"Wrap it up ladies!" Right on cue, Andres warning cut through the air.

For a moment it looked as if Geers was about to fire off a retort, but he managed to hold his tongue. "Never did like that woman," he grumbled and continued, "Anyway, we had a feeling it might come to this. Knew that if Danse found out there'd be hell to pay. So we quietly sowed the seeds."

"And the radio transmission on the vertibird earlier?"

Geers smiled, "That was my idea. Mission code name Delta Juliette. From the old military phonetic alphabet. The first letters of your names. Delta November the letters in Danse's identification number, and Juliette Charlie for yours."

Without thinking Jackie smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!" Geers winced and clutched at his his head. "What was the hell that for?"

"You idiot!" Jackie hadn't meant to hurt him; it was just an outward expression of her frustration at the situation. "This would have gone so much smoother if you had told me!"

"Like I said, it wasn't supposed to happen!" He continued to rub at the spot where Jackie's hand had made contact, "But we had a feeling Danse wouldn't be too happy when you disappeared yesterday. So, Haylen and I scrambled to get everyone ready just in case."

"What if this ends badly tomorrow?" She demanded, needing to know that perhaps there was a Plan C. "What if Danse winds up dead?"

"You-"

"I can't lead the Brotherhood." Jackie knew where that line of thought was headed and Danse's death was not an option. If he fell, then she would go down with him. "As much as I want to see Maxson burn, as much as he's hurt me, I'm not a murderer. Clearly, I'm not executioner either. And if Danse dies, you might as well put a bullet in my head too. I can't do this, any of it, without him."

"Don't worry," The small, reassuring smile that appeared on Geers' face was one of kindness and understanding, "There might be a lot of us locked in that warehouse, but there are still more. You didn't think we would reveal our entire hand, did you? Maxson won't come out on top. Either by death or forcible surrender, we will have a new Elder."

Lightning crackled across the sky above as Jackie thought about Lemus. It made sense that soldiers hadn't voiced their opinions or had been told to keep quiet. She rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease the ache that had settled into her head. The sharp clap of thunder rattled the decrepit building. The storm was upon them.

"Dixon! Geers!" Andres was not happy. "Don't make me come over there! Get your asses inside!"

As the fat droplets began to lazily fall around them, sure to become an angry torrent at any second, Geers gently put his hand on her shoulder with a soft squeeze, "It'll be alright Paladin; you aren't in this alone. We've got you."

Jackie could only sigh and hope that he was right as they set off towards the back door and the scowling Knight-Captain.


	14. Perched within the Soul

_"Hope" is the thing with feathers_  
 _That perches in the soul,_  
 _And sings the tune without the words,_  
 _And never stops at all._

 _And sweetest in the gale is heard;_  
 _And sore must be the storm_  
 _That could abash the little bird_  
 _That kept so many warm_

 _I've heard it in the chilliest land_  
 _And on the strangest sea;_  
 _Yet, never, in extremity,_  
 _It asked a crumb of me._

 _-Emily Dickinson-_

* * *

"Again, soldier." His voice cut the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the air.

Jackie stood beside Danse as he quietly observed. Seemingly unaware that he had spoken at all, she stared down at the cabinet top full of carefully sorted and organized piles of supplies. Her hands wrung together and she rubbed at her arms while the corner of her lip was caught between her teeth.

"Run through the list again," he prompted, but she merely continued her nervous fidgeting without response.

Danse scratched at the back of his neck as he attempted to discern what had Jackie on edge and how he could alleviate the growing tension she was experiencing. Something had been bothering his soldier for days now and whatever it was had been slowly eating away at her and fueling her anxiety.

Ever since Ingram had told them that they were to locate the Mark 28 nukes in the glowing sea, Jackie hadn't quite been herself. By now, Danse knew her well enough to pick up on the subtle changes in her behavior, the nuances, and outward perseverations of her inner conflicts that she kept hidden away. Witnessed by only a few and truly understood by even fewer.

Months had passed with only her by his side as they trudged onward through the wastes in their ever harrowing war against the Institute. The lapse of time stretched even further since the woman had burst into his compound, eyes wild and blasting ferals with a crude, sawed off shotgun and a snapping, snarling beast of a dog at her side. Now that he thought about it, so much had changed since that time, not only within Jackie, but within himself.

In the beginning, Jackie had hid her demons and insecurities behind sarcasm and insubordination. Danse had admittedly given her hell over her rebellious behavior, but in the public face of others, she was bold and fearless; a common wastelander, a vault-dweller, accomplishing uncommon feats. She inspired others with her courage, dedication, and successful advancement of the Brotherhood's cause. It didn't take him long, however, to figure out that behind it all, she was simply afraid. Fearful of the world she had awoken into, afraid to be called a hero, terrified of losing the few people she had grown close to, but above all else, afraid that she would fail.

They weren't so different in that regard and all too often in the waning hours of darkness, before the break of dawn, he found himself in her presence, sitting side by side in the stillness of the open wasteland. With the fading moonlight at their backs and the whispers of morning unfurling on a canvas of pink and orange upon the horizon before them, just two soldiers with the unspoken understanding that war held no bounds to grief and loneliness.

It was within these moments of silent solitude, cast in the shadow of the early morning and unable to chase the lull of sleep for fear of what they might witness behind closed lids, that they sewed the bonds of friendship. Little by little, Jackie had told him of her life before the war. Told him the tale of unbearable loss, the destruction of her world, and the tearing apart of her family. Danse in turn, confided in her about his own losses; how he still mourned the death of his friend, how he sometimes questioned the things he had been taught, and that maybe he was only seeing part of the picture and maybe he had been wrong.

They discussed their shared feelings of inadequacy; how they had let the people they cared about - the people who trusted them - down, how they felt they didn't deserve what they had been given, and how it was difficult to comprehend how people still had faith in their abilities. During those times, Jackie comforted him with gentle touches and words of affirmation. For Danse, the words never seemed to come out right so when the wasteland was too much to bear, he offered her his silent understanding and a shoulder to cry on.

Jackie had kept his secrets in confidence and he began to realize that underneath it all, he was just as afraid as she was. Yet the thing about spending nearly every waking moment with her, was that he started to think that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to walk through life alone anymore. That maybe he could trust Jackie to help him carry the weight of his own hardships.

Those moments made him feel vulnerable and exposed, and most surprising of all was that he had let her in, allowed her to slowly chip away at his walls until there was nothing left between them. He permitted her to get close to him in a way that no one else had since Cutler. Before he knew it and before he could even give time to pause and correct it, they were shouldering each other's burdens. Over time, Danse had come to the understanding that perhaps Jackie had become more than just his sister in arms. And if he dared to permit himself to admit it, more than simply his friend.

Danse shifted toward her, "Jackie," and laid his hand on her shoulder.

Lost in the musings of her mind, the unexpected contact made her start and jerk around. "Huh- What?"

Her eyes wide as she stared up at him, and Danse was unexpectedly caught off guard. There was something oddly alluring about her mismatched eyes. Although she had explained how it had happened, he still sometimes found himself watching her eyes, captivated by the mystery of the anomaly.

"Sorry," she pushed at the wayward strands of sandy colored hair that hung in her face, barely contained by the loose knot atop her head. "Did you say something?"

"I…" his hand remained on her shoulder longer than he intended before remembering himself and letting it fall to his side. "Is something the matter? You seem...preoccupied."

Her eyes drifted away to roam about the small space. "No. I've just been…" Jackie shifted and pulled at the sleeve of her t-shirt, "distracted."

"Distractions-"

"I know," she cut him off and turned her back on him to grab her clipboard off the cabinet, "distractions get you killed."

Earlier in the day they had finished gathering the needed supplies and Danse had brought her back to his quarters for inventory and packing. He had hoped that being alone would help to ease her anxiety or at the very least she would confide in him as to what was bothering her.

"I'm worried about you," he admitted.

"I'm fine." Instead she had just clammed up. "Just want to make sure we didn't forget anything."

"I assure you we haven't forgotten anything. We are as prepared as we're going to be," Danse grabbed their bags and moved to stand beside her again, "but if it will help to relieve your uncertainty, let's run through the list again."

Jackie looked over at him and nodded, "Alright."

"You read and I'll pack."

Again she nodded and began rattling off the list of supplies. As each line was read, Danse carefully packed away the item followed by the scratch of Jackie's pen to cross it off.

"That's all of it," she eventually announced as she marked through the last item and tossed the clipboard on the now clear cabinet top.

"Affirmative."

Danse zipped up the bags and stowed them by the door. He would have thought there to be a shift in her mood, a lessening of the tension, but instead Jackie resumed the twisting of her hands. Whatever was on her mind, it had nothing to do with their preparedness for the impending mission in the morning.

In an attempt to calm his own mounting nerves at not being able to figure out what had Jackie so wound up, Danse went to complete his final checks of their weapons. As he looked over their rifles and stuffed their separate ammo bags, Jackie took up pacing about the small space.

With the creeping of each second came the rhythmic sound of her stomping back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore and there was only so much staring he could do before his rifle caught fire from his annoyance. Fingers drummed against his thigh before his head snapped around, his body slowly following as he folded his arms across his chest. He could feel the wrinkles in his heavy brow growing, and he opened his mouth if only to release the tightening in his jaw.

"Enough." He wasn't trying to be rude, it's just that it was getting harder to hide his irritation at her mindless circling.

Jackie abruptly stopped and leaned her hand into her hip and Danse knew that she could be just as petulant as he could when she wanted to be. Quickly, his eyes scanned the room looking for an escape because he wasn't trying to start an argument. The endless fretting just had to stop.

Finally, his eyes settled on the papers scattered about his desk, "I've got desk detail."

With a raise of her eyebrows she sunk deeper into her hip, "You trying to tell me something?"

 _Don't be an ass._

Despite the warning and pressure of his teeth grinding together, the words came tumbling out anyway.

"You're going to wear a hole in the hull of the Prydwen with your incessant pacing."

Jackie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, alright, I get it. I'll go."

Danse sighed and unfolded his arms to drag a hand through his hair. "You don't have to go." It seemed his souring mood had gotten the better of him. "However, you do have to stop this. You need to find a way to relax. This is more than pre-mission jitters, but I can't help if you don't talk to me."

The scowling continued before she closed her eyes and inhaled, but with the heavy exhale, she seemed to crumple in on herself.

"I don't know, Danse," she squeezed her hands together and caught his gaze. "This mission has got me on edge. Something about it just doesn't feel right." She looked away before softly expressing her concern, "It's got me worried."

His previous impatience was rapidly receding, "Every mission we go on is a risk," and he felt the weight of his words for snapping at her.

"I know that," and her gaze shifted to take stock in the floor. "This one just feels different. I don't know how to explain it."

Danse considered this a moment and thought about how sometimes all Jackie needed was a firm hand, someone to set hard boundaries and force her to stop her compulsions. It was the forcefulness of being given a strict set of orders to follow with clear consequences that broke the cycle of her anxiety and allowed her to refocus her mind.

"Sit." A hand was flicked towards the bed next to the desk. There was a second of hesitation, but she complied nonetheless, plopping down with a sigh.

"I do have reports that need to be filed." He followed suit and sat at the desk across from her. "You can stay, but I don't want to hear another word about this mission."

Really, he just wanted to help ease her anxiety and maybe he should have sent her on her way but Danse was not a stupid man. He was very much aware that if he set her loose on the ship, she would likely pace the mess or make her rounds through the crew decks to irritate the entire Brotherhood. Or worse, Geers would talk her into some idiotic, half-formed plan to serve as his version of stress reduction.

No. Jackie was much better off right here where he could keep an eye on her.

"And no more fidgeting. If I catch you engaging in any of these prohibited behaviors, you will have your own stack of reports shoved in your face."

It appeared Jackie mistook the seriousness of the situation and misread his stern expression for sarcasm because the corners of her mouth were curling into the most ridiculous little grin. She sat there with her hands in her lap and shoulders hunched, attempting to feign innocence.

"Am I understood?" Danse felt the need to emphasize that he meant business.

"Why you gotta be so bossy all the time?" In any other situation, he would have told her off for her breezy attitude. He was reminded though, that this was the point, to provide her with a distraction.

"Jackie," he warned.

His tone only seemed to fuel her increasingly childish behavior, "Yeah, yeah," but suddenly the grin was fading and he could see the question worming its way to the front of her mind. "I'll be behave."

"Out with it," he huffed and leaned back into his chair. "This is your last chance. Ask your question and then your done."

The question was mulled over in her head before she blurted out, "Ingram installed the modifications to our armor, right?"

"You micromanaged every last detail, on yours and mine. So, I believe the answer is yes."

At first, Danse had been surprised at his new recruit's proficiency with power armor and her understanding of basic maintenance. Jackie had chalked it up to having some remedial training before the war, but wasn't she a lawyer? Danse wasn't convinced. That is until he had discovered the name _Nathan Dixon_ stamped all over his T-60 manual. It was highly unlikely that it was coincidence, but he had never asked because he assumed if she wanted him to know, she would have said something.

As Jackie leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, Danse could see the next question stacked behind the first. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and before she could form the words and open her mouth to ask, he answered, "We just checked the seals not even two hours ago. There is _nothing_ else to be done."

Her eyebrows shot up, "How did you-?"

"Because I know you, Jackie." Just as predicted, she opened her mouth to protest or continue her battery of questions, but Danse cut her off before she could fire them off, "You're done. We had a deal." Still her mouth hung open slightly and he reached around to grab a stack of papers from the desk.

"Okay, okay!" she snapped her lips shut and threw up her hands in defeat. All the while he fixed her with a look that screamed, _'this is not funny time.'_

"I'm done," she promised as she sank back down into her knees.

With a final glance and nod of his approval, Danse slowly turned around, grumbling to himself and wondering why he tolerated her antics. Before long though, he was sifting through reports and filling out paperwork. As he was writing up a report, the click of a pen stopped him mid-sentence.

 _Click._

He counted to ten.

 _Click._

Where the _hell_ had she gotten a pen from?

 _Click._

The deafening white noise was grating on his already failing patience.

 _Click._

But he didn't trust himself to turn around and not say something inappropriate.

 _Click._

The noise made him flinch and jerk his own pen across the paper.

 _Click._

 _Damnit!_

 _Click._

His mind raced as he quickly tried to come up with a distraction.

 _Click._

He couldn't take much more before he whipped around and shouted at her.

 _Click._

Finally he was graced with an idea.

 _Cli-_

"Tell me a story," he ground out, effectively halting her clicking.

"What?"

"Tell me a story." With the infuriating noise banished, at least for the moment, Danse felt in control enough to turn around and extend his hand.

Jackie stared at him, her eyes flicking between his face and his hand, brow knit in confusion.

Exasperated from the situation, he shook his head, "The pen."

She snatched it close to her chest and held onto it while she scrunched up her face in defiance. After a moment and a sidelong glance, she relented and handed it over.

"You know all my stories," she said with a shrug and tugged at the elastic tied around the knot of her hair. It came tumbling down past her shoulders, the color and the way her hair hung about her face reminded Danse of the golden waves of grain as the wind blew through the fields of razorgrain in Sanctuary.

"Then I suggest you think of one I don't know." The demand was as much a call for distraction in his own mind as it was for hers.

"Something you don't already know…?" With her chin balanced in her palm and a wrinkle of her nose, Jackie ruminated over her abundance of pre-war stories. "Have I told you about the time I got conned into watching the Perseid Meteor Shower?"

Danse was familiar with this particular phenomenon. Thankfully, the bombs hadn't knocked the earth out of orbit and even in the wasteland, the late summer light show could still be seen in the night sky during mid August. Last year, he and his squad had just recently arrived in the Commonwealth as they sat upon the roof of the police station to watch the plethora of shooting stars.

As far back as Danse could remember he had partook in the observation of the annual shower, watched as the old broken stars fell down upon the horizon, raining from the cosmos above to pepper the earth and the sky with a brilliant display of color and light. A reminder that even after the end of the world and the fall of man, some things never changed.

"No," Danse shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Oh!" Jackie nearly lept off the bed in her excitement. "You're gonna like this one!" Her hands rubbed together in her anticipation. "So, Nate and I, we never really dated. We just kinda had an agreement."

It wasn't a secret how she had met her husband; she had told Danse the wildly inappropriate tale before. "Mhm," he encouraged her to continue.

"Anyway," she smiled and went on, "I think he just wanted to surprise me, but Nate didn't really understand how the whole courtship thing worked. He pretty much just got whatever he wanted. With me though, he tried, and for some reason he thought he needed to impress me."

The burst of excitement was fading and even though Danse knew he should get back to work, he was enchanted by the smile that still lingered on her lips and the way her eyes seemed to be set aglow as she recounted the fond memory.

"The man hatched up this plan, convinced me that he needed my help with some night time field testing." Jackie snorted at the thought. "Turns out he'd actually just made off with his armor and commandeered a transport vehicle. Told me to meet him at an unmanned checkpoint out by the training grounds and proceeded to drive us out into the middle of nowhere."

There was something about the way she wove her tale that made it impossible for him to look away. To be able to share in these rare moments when she freely opened up about her life before the bombs brought Danse a sense of contentment that he couldn't quite compare to. He knew he was the only one who she allowed to see this part of herself, and he was honored that she trusted him enough to let him see a glimpse of who she was before.

It didn't matter that sometimes she told him stories of her husband or that her entire demeanor shifted when she looked back on happier times. He would ask a hundred times over for her to tell him a tale of her late husband if it meant he got to bare witness to her laugh and smile without bounds.

"We drove until the road ended and he told me we would have to walk, so I followed him into the desert. About a mile out is when I began to realize something wasn't right." She was still smiling even though he could see the annoyance in her eyes. "So I started questioning him..."

Danse listened intently as Jackie narrated her tale. She told him of how her husband had loaded his armor with liquor and snacks and all he really wanted was to have a picnic under the stars. About how, by the end of the night, Nate was too drunk to walk let alone climb back in his armor. How Jackie wasn't strong enough to get him back on her own so she had to figure out how to use the power armor with no idea as to what she was doing. She laughed when she told Danse that somehow she managed to get her husband and her new steel friend back on base without incident or getting caught.

"Don't look at me like that!" Jackie swatted at his arm.

The story had been so engaging that Danse hadn't noticed he was scowling at the audacity that she had been expected to operate a full suit of power armor with no prior experience and without any formal training. "And after all that, you still married the man?"

Instead of showing irritation or telling him off, Jackie smiled and laughed outright, "Yeah, I guess so. Honestly though, I wasn't even angry. The next day I just told Nate that I'd forgive him if he properly trained me how to use the power armor."

As Danse leaned back in his chair again, his lips twitching with the traces of his own smile, he realized that this story gave him the answers to a few key questions he had about Jackie. What he had been given was a precious piece of her past that revealed far more than the words that were spoken. It showed him of the simple joy she held and the light that radiated from the inside out. Light that he still caught glimpses of here and now, confirming his theories on how she had become so proficient in her use of power armor. But it still raised more questions. Who was her husband and how much had he taught her? What was his role in the army? His specialty? What exactly did he do? And why…why was his name printed in the manual?

Questions upon questions wanted to come rushing from his lips, but he held his tongue because really, it didn't matter.

"He had many redeeming qualities." Jackie's voice broke his rumination and he glanced up from his hands to see that she was looking at him as if she was no longer speaking about her husband.

Suddenly he felt uncomfortable in his own skin and nervous about being so close to her. Danse rubbed his hands against his legs, his fingers finding a steady rhythm against his thigh. His eyes lingered on her face, which no longer held the air of lightheartedness but contained an entirely different expression.

"People have been talking," she whispered, not quite able to hold his gaze.

Danse knew full well what she was referring to. He may have been many things but stupid was not one of them. The passing murmurs had not fallen on deaf ears, yet still he asked, "And what have they been saying?"

Jackie tugged at the ends of her hair and stared for a good long while without answering. Trying to decide on what exactly she wanted to say.

Finally she swallowed and wet her lips and softly spoke, "I like you, Danse," with a rising pinkish hue in her cheeks.

Without thinking he chuckled, "How old are you?" It was no surprise that Jackie scoffed at his insensitivity and he knew with the corresponding eyeroll and indignant look on her face that a snarky response was seconds away. "You know what...don't answer that."

All joking aside, her face fell and Danse didn't blame her for her offense, and when she looked away, he felt the need to correct his mistake.

"Hey," he reached out and touched her hand, drawing her attention back to him, "I like you too Jacqs."

Again, her response was not what he anticipated. Her frown deepened, sadness spread across her face, with a sort of desperation present in her eyes. Danse couldn't help but feel as if he had done something wrong. For the life of him though, he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

Jackie shied away from him, looking at some nondescript point on the wall next to her and wrapped her arms around her ribs.

"I'm sorry." he said the words, but for what he wasn't sure.

"Don't apologize." She swiped at her face, still not willing to look at him and he realized she was crying.

His hand twitched with the desire to reach across the space between them and run his thumb over her cheeks to catch her tears. Feeling that the timing was all wrong, he held back, and he didn't want to instigate another undesirable reaction.

"It's just...sometimes…" she turned back towards him, fingertips still attempting to brush away her tears. There was hesitation with the trembling of her chest from her unsteady breathing, "a lot of the time...you remind me of him. And I miss him, you know?"

"Jackie..." he could feel the gouge in his forehead from his frown because he understood this pain. Felt it in the time after his friend and only family he had ever know was gone. Even now, years later, he still sometimes felt the unbearable weight and cavern of emptiness that loss crrated. Danse however, had never been the eloquent type and he didn't know what to say to fix this.

"It's fine. Really, it's alright." Slowly she was beginning to collect herself and still Danse just sat there, lost for words. "Don't feel like you have to say something." The tiniest of smiles had crept upon her lips. This had not been his intent and all he wanted was to offer her his comfort. Again, the twitch of his hand was unintentional. It didn't go unnoticed this time and Jackie grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to press against her cheek, "this helps. _You_ help."

The sentiment sent a tidal wave of warmth flooding through him and his nervousness was renewed. Danse returned her smile and moved his other hand to hold her face between his palms. He stroked her cheeks and the way she looked at him with those eyes, spoke to him of endearing affection. As he swept away the remnants of her tears, he hoped that she couldn't feel the stuttering of his heart beneath the rough pads of his thumb. With a trembling breath her hand came to rest atop his and she closed her eyes as she leaned into the gentle caress of his skin against hers.

He had leaned in close until his forehead just barely touched hers, "Jacqs..." and he almost said the words that he had wanted to say all along. But they were trapped in his throat when Jackie opened her eyes and they were filled with emotions he had never dared dream he'd see.

The moment stretched on with the thudding of his pulse in his ears, but before Danse act on his impulse to kiss her until she breathless, Jackie blinked and squeezed his hand. She was slowly pulling away, "Apparently, I don't know how to act my age," and attempting to defuse the situation.

"Apparently neither do I." They both smirked and Danse felt heat prickling at his neck as he let his hands fall away. The light was returning to her eyes and he wanted to keep her talking, divert her thinking away from the painful and anxiety inducing thoughts. "What was it like, living in Texas?"

"Hot," she sighed and leaned back against her palms. The question prompted a flow stories about the desert and a comparison of the cities, foreign and domestic, that she had spent her life in before the war.

The minutes stretched on into hours as Jackie told him of her travels, the places she'd lived and of her deployments, and the time her husband managed to take her to a castle in Ireland after their elopement. Danse was enthralled by her tales and the world he'd never know. Eventually, he had turned back to his papers, but really he only pretended to work as he listened. It was well past the middle of the night when he realized that silence had replaced her chatter of storytelling.

When Danse finally turned around to call it quits, he found that Jackie had long since fallen asleep in his bed, with an arm thrown over her head as the soft breaths of sleep claimed the rise and fall of her chest. He just stood there and watched the beauty of the whole thing with the thought that he should wake her. And he was about to when he stopped himself, aware that if he woke her now, she would spend the remainder of the night tossing and turning alone in her bunk or nervously wandering the decks.

Perhaps it was selfishness or simply self-indulgence, but he convinced himself that allowing her to stay was better for them both, that it was a benefit to their mission in the morning if they were both well rested. He knew they both slept more soundly when the other was near by. Yes, it was for the benefit of the mission, he told himself as he kicked off his boots and clicked on the desk lamp before making his way to flip off the overhead lights.

"Jackie," he whispered as he sat on the bed and gently nudged her shoulder, "move over."

She muttered incoherently as she rolled onto her side and with the deep inhale of breath, Danse could have sworn he heard his name on the heavy exhale.

"Hm?" was all he could manage as he settled beside her because there was conflict brewing within him, conflict between doing the right thing and throwing all caution to the wind.

"I'm afraid," she sighed and he hadn't expected a response at all.

"Of what?" The urge to reach out and touch her, to leave no space between them was almost too strong to expel from his mind and even moreso his body.

For a moment she didn't say anything and he thought that maybe she had fallen asleep once more but then she uttered a quiet confession, "I'm afraid of losing you."

There was heat rising in his cheeks and blooming from within at the newfound understanding that this was the root cause of her anxiety all along; that she feared a life that no longer had him in it, that come tomorrow it might bring about the fateful day where he no longer walked beside her. It was a fear that mirrored his own. For some time now, he had been afraid that every time he went out into the field with her it would be her last.

All he wanted in that moment was to toss aside the barrier that the chain of command created and pull her into his arms; to assure her not to be afraid, that everything would be alright, to promise her that he would never leave her.

Danse however, was not about making promises he couldn't keep. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered and brushed the soft strands of hair from her face.

Jackie relaxed at his touch and murmured words that had no meaning as Danse allowed himself a moment to let his fingers run along her curves when he wanted so much more. For the time being though, he would have to keep her at arm's length and hope that his reassurance would be enough. He resisted the desire to allow the lines to blur even more than they already had and rolled over to click off the lamp.

For a while he stared through the darkness and simply listened to Jackie's steady breathing beside him. As he eventually drifted off to sleep, the thought occurred to him that when they returned from the glowing sea, he should do something about this unspoken thing between them. No longer did he want to just fall asleep by her side, Danse wanted to hold her and kiss her goodnight and tell her all the things he felt for her that had gone unsaid for far too long. The realization coming to him as the last grips of consciousness slipped away that he had loved her for far longer than he cared to admit.

* * *

In the darkness he sat and now that he was alone and the truth had started to settle in, he wondered if any of this was real. He knew what he had read on the screen and as he turned the tape over in his hands, he knew that it was true. He knew what he was. A living lie. The enemy. Abomination. All his life, or what he perceived as his life, had been for nothing. His life was meaningless; _he_ was meaningless.

He knew that eventually someone would come for him, hunt him down and dispose of him. It was only a matter of time and now here he waited for the end to come. It was pathetic that in these final moments his mind was awash with thoughts of Jackie, of those quiet moments in his quarters not even twenty-four hours ago.

Of all the soldiers, he knew Maxson would send her - a test of trust and loyalty. In his selfish desires, he felt a thrill at being able to see her one last time. But he also understood the burden his death would bring her, so he decided in that moment that he would shoulder this one last hardship for her.

Even though he didn't deserve a single second, he was grateful for the time he had been given with her. Eventually, when she found his body buried beneath the broken earth, he could only hope that it would bring her some sense of closure; that she would move on from the grief of losing him and carry on with her mission without him, that someday she would find peace and happiness in the world without him.

Yes, Danse would do this for her. He did not fear death, but he wondered what would be waiting for him on the other side or if it would be nothing at all. Would he slip into the darkness, forgotten and alone, and simply cease to exist? It was with these final thoughts and a heaviness in his chest that he shoved the tape into the terminal and pushed record. The gun rested easily in his hand and perhaps pulling the trigger would be the only _human_ thing he ever did. He accepted his death without second thought because he no longer held the right to continue living.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ As always, thanks to MaxRev for beta reading for me.

I'd like to pause for a moment and acknowledge that I've written over 50,000 words. It is a big deal for me. Something that started as a fragmented reaction, has turned into this. Seriously, y'all are the best and make my days just a little bit brighter!

Thanks for the read and continuing to follow along! Just brace yourselves, the next few chapters are gonna be a little rough. All aboard the angst train 'cause here we come!


	15. Catch Me as I Fall

_**A/N:**_ _Just FYI - I will be following a different time line for a couple chapters. I'll be back to the main timeline soon. Hopefully no one is super confused :)_

* * *

" _I never said thank you for that;  
_ _I thought I might get one more chance.  
_ _What would you think of me now?"_

 _-Hear You Me, Jimmy Eat World-_

Sometime in the night, Danse awoke to the noose of sheets entangling his body as he jerked to free himself of the demons fingering his mind. The coiled tendrils of fabric constricted as he struggled to stave off the lingering nightmares and regain his grasp on reality. Except, the blackness yielded nothing, only serving to muddy his senses and disorient him further. The distant hum of beasts lurking in the shadows enmeshed with his desperate pants, sending his heart knocking against his ribs. He couldn't discern if the rasping of breath was his own or simply a manifestation of his delusions. Or worse, he wasn't alone. That thought alone had him clawing at the bed sheets and throwing out his arm, reaching for the rifle that wasn't there.

With the loss of spatial and temporal awareness, he was sucked into the vacuum of darkness, unable to escape the gnashing of teeth, tearing at his flesh as the putrid rot of death rolled his gut. He thrashed and fumbled to take hold of something, anything, to keep him afloat. Amidst his torment there was only an echo, an imprint that took seed in his mind. The feeling of fleeting touches and smooth skin, whispered words of endearment, and unspoken desires - the distant reassurance of another beside him were all that remained. Memories stringing him along through his abhorrent state, his mind would only allow him to conjure one word. A single name uttered as a plea.

"Jackie..." a lifeline to pull him from the sea of death. He groped through the darkness, and he wasn't sure if the weight nestled next to him was real or just a dream.

"Shh," like the break of dawn, she was there. Her hand came to greet his own and guided his fingers to rest upon her shoulder. She illuminated his world with brilliant warmth as she pushed back the damp threads of hair from his forehead. "I'm here." Soft tones spoken to ease the flaring scars within his battered mind, obtained by the brutality of battle. Marks of war, remnants of unbearable choices, all left behind in the most intimate of places. "You're alright," she cooed.

Fingers combed through his hair and traced down along his neck, pausing for a moment to allow the intimacy of her touch to be felt, as she softly scratched between the short strands at his nape. As much as he attempted to settle, the simple task of breathing felt more like a marathon of gulped air meeting protesting lungs. Tension ladened his body with the painful spasms of his muscles rendering him helpless to the irrationalities of his nightmares.

But Danse listened. He focused on Jackie's whispers of reassurance as he choked at the suffocating feeling in his throat and attempted to calm his pounding heart. The need to call out to her, just to hear her voice, to confirm that she was really there, overwhelmed him.

"Jackie." and he was ashamed of the way he whined her name, like a child unable to control his fearful cries because he was afraid of the monsters that lurked under the bed. This certainly wasn't the first time Jackie had soothed the burn of his nightmares, but he felt foolish for letting his insecurities get the better of him.

"I'm here. Danse, I'm here." No judgement lingered in her tone, only compassion and understanding because she had been here before, she knew how this felt. "Just breathe. Let it pass."

With his rationale lost to the wind, he rolled over and his arms found their way around her. The unconscious desire to be close to her, to feel her, to know that she was real, drove his instincts to draw her nearer. Danse pulled Jackie into his arms and held her tighter than he ought to, all the while knowing that he was crossing a boundary; however, he no longer cared what the implications might be. He needed her.

Jackie tensed with a soft whimper of surprise at the sudden lack of space between them. Yet, there was no resistance, no push back, as he leaned his head against hers and surrendered himself to the shoals of her asylum. Quickly, the tension dissipated and she freed her hand, caught between their bodies, and slipped her arm around his middle. She eased into his embrace, returning it in full force and her mumbled words of encouragement were lost against his chest.

The only thing that mattered was she was there, in his arms, and he knew that he would be alright as long as she was there.

Slowly, the torrent in his mind calmed and the vice in his chest released him from its grip. No longer wheezing as if he were taking in water, he could finally breathe. He knew Jackie had his back. She was there with him, and he trusted her to defend him even when he was unable to defend himself.

As his sense of reality returned, Danse loosened his hold and Jackie shifted to gently run her fingers along his jaw. He wanted to thank her, but he knew he had overstepped his bounds and the words were caught in his chest. Jackie must have felt the hum of his conflict because she spoke before he could even decide what he wanted to say.

"There's nothing to apologize for." Of course she knew and there was only compassion in her words.

Danse however, felt that perhaps he had still done something erroneous and he shouldn't burden her with something as menial as bad dreams.

"Danse," her hand slid down to rest against his chest, "not all battles are fought out in the field. I've always got your back, no matter what we're fighting."

The endearing sentiment radiated through his very being. He felt it in the warmth on his skin and the way his chest seemed to ache at her nearness, desiring for so much more than simply this. The way that Jackie seemed to perceive and understand his needs, read him without the need for words…Danse was starting to understand that perhaps this was how it felt to have someone truly care for you.

"I…" The words once again refused to come out how he wanted. His mind shut him down when he attempted to tell her what she really meant to him, that simple letters strung together could not adequately express that she was not just another soldier to him.

With feelings of inadequacy swaddling his vocal cords, he forwent a formal declaration of intent and continued to hold her, instead settling for substandard language to express his gratitude. "I appreciate that, thank you."

If Jackie was bothered by his lack of tact, she didn't say anything and Danse hoped that she understood despite his insufficient words.

"You haven't walked out on me for regularly waking up in a panic," she scooted closer to him and he didn't need the light to know that she was smiling through the darkness, "so I figure you're worth keeping around. The least I can do is return the favor."

"Of course not. I told you I'm not not going anywhere." That familiar tingling heat was resurfacing from earlier in the evening. So much for keeping her at arm's length, clearly he was was failing to uphold his own standards.

As long as he was tossing all caution to wind, Danse allowed his hands to wander a moment. To take in the feel of her beneath his fingertips as he held her within his embrace. He figured there was no harm in allowing this to happen, at least for tonight. Jackie understood boundaries and come morning, he knew she would be mission ready no matter what had transpired in the hours before dawn.

Danse rolled over on his back again, but didn't let go, nudging at Jackie to move with him until she was settled against him. "Go back to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."

He could feel her grinning, even through the fabric of his shirt, as she leaned her head into his shoulder, obviously pleased that she was being allowed to remain pressed against him with her arm draped over his chest.

"You really do like me, yeah?" she muttered, still hiding her face in his shoulder.

"Was I unclear in how I feel about you?" His hand rested upon hers as his thumb lightly brushed her fingertips.

"No, but..." she paused on the recess, formulating her plan of attack.

Judging by the humor in her voice, Danse knew that if she had it her way, Jackie would interrogate him until the sun came up and watch him squirm at his inability to formulate complete sentences to properly express his feelings.

"Jackie," he warned, thankful for the darkness to hide the smile that he would never admit to having, "go to sleep. I promise we will talk about this, but now is not the time."

* * *

"Paladin Danse."

Danse was standing on the basement floor in the bowels of the sentinel site, the cargo elevator likely having reached the bottom ages ago. Of course, Haylen had caught him _distracted,_ grinning like a damn idiot when he thought no one was looking - again.

The day had been long and tedious. Hours upon hours had been spent testing, inventorying, and preparing the Mark 28's for transport. Once the beacon had been activated, it didn't take long for the troops to descend upon the site and Danse had orchestrated the show to near perfection, save for a void nagging at the recesses of his mind. He had endeavored to keep him mind from wandering by remaining endlessly occupied, even to the point of fatigue. Yet, still his wrath had rained down upon an initiate for misplacing his pen and Geers had scoffed and stalked off as he shouted at the lancer for disrupting the operation because he'd had the audacity to leave his aircraft to relieve himself.

Regardless of his futile efforts to fill the gap, Danse found his thoughts wandering back to the key component that was missing from this undertaking - his partner. He had sent Jackie, alone, back to the waypoint for extraction per Ingram's request and despite having ensured the route was clear, he worried.

Had she made it there safely? Was she able to call for transport or did she have to traverse the Commonwealth on foot? Was she back at the airport? What was she doing? All throughout the day, his mind rambled with questions and diverted his thoughts to the lingering feeling of waking that morning to find Jackie still asleep in his arms. As much has he tried deny it, it seemed she had infiltrated his mind.

There was so much he needed to say. When he dismissed her to return on her own, it wasn't goodbye, not really. Yet, as she had smiled at him and leaned in to whisper that she would _'see him on the other side,'_ it felt as if she were sand slipping between his fingers. That if he let her go, he might never get the chance to tell her all the things he felt. Danse however, ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut and convinced himself that he was being foolish and watched her walk away.

The day gnawed on and when the last of the bombs had been inspected and cataloged, Danse had personally assisted the transport crew with ferrying them to the surface to ensure the proper load plan had been followed. Upon approval for departure, he had watched in the storm of prop wash churning the ruddied ground as the vertibirds ascended into the hellish skies, chasing the horizon with the chop of death upon their blades. The roar of the rotors was lost to the gale of radiation hailing against his armor as Danse had basked in the glow of mission success.

"Sir?" Haylen's voice once again roused his consciousness.

The faintest trace of his elation at the knowledge that he would soon be returning to the Prydwen, to Jackie, betrayed his steadfast composure. There was no point in trying to hide it, Danse knew he'd been caught and he prepared himself for the onslaught of embarrassment from the not so subtle teasing that was sure to ensue. With the weight of duty and remembering his place gouging at his brow, Danse waited, ready to take the ridicule so they could make haste and get the hell out of there. The insolence, however, never came. Instead, Haylen stood before him stoney eyed and paling.

"Danse…" she choked on his name, unable to continue and reached for the armored plating of his arm. But, she stopped midway and retracted her hand to stand at attention.

In the background, Geers sauntered down the stairs from the control room and encroached down the corridor with his palm resting against the grip of the pistol holstered at his hip, thumb caressing the safety. Danse snapped his eyes from one to the other with the feeling that he was missing something. They had been suspiciously conversing when he had left for the surface and clearly something had transpired between the pair of them in the short time it had taken him to return. Haylen had never been very good at keeping her emotions hidden and conflict was written all over her face. It was evident in the way her eyes crinkled together and how the ever-present cheerfulness was markedly absent from her features.

Something wasn't right and whatever it was, it had her shaken up.

"Scribe Haylen," Danse scanned the surrounding area, searching for any clues as to what had caused the abrupt shift in his soldier's behavior, "what's wrong? Has something occurred that I am unaware of?"

With a soft inhale, Haylen hesitated, pausing as if she was unsure of how to proceed, how to answer. For a moment she said nothing at all with only a frown weighing her down, until she exhaled heavily and the emotions she was trying to conceal seeped through. There was moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes, and she shook her head as her shoulders sagged. Still loitering amongst the shadows, Geers had moved in to lean against the decrepit forklift, hand still palming his pistol.

Danse didn't like this. Red flags were waving in his head, alerting him that somehow his comrades had become a threat.

Haylen cleared her throat and the stark contrast of the soldier within her was quickly renewed as she straightened up and stuffed her emotions away. "You need to get out of your power armor," she demanded and as much as she could, she attempted to make herself big, speaking with an air of authority that had Danse bristling.

Since when did Haylen demand things of him and disrespect his leadership? Instinctively, his fingers tightened around his rifle.

"Excuse me?" he wasn't about to stand for insubordination. Just because they were alone in the belly of the damn bomb factory, didn't give Haylen the right to speak to him as if they were off duty. They still had a job to do. "Explain yourself Scribe."

"Do you trust me?" her approach softened, obviously disheartened by the reprimand, the undertones of her voice almost pleading.

Ever since he had botched Gladius' reconnaissance in the Commonwealth, Danse had held the remaining members of his team in high esteem. Haylen and Rhys had supported and followed him without question. They stood by him in the worst of circumstances and carried him through the tough calls, the decisions that no one else wanted to make. So, the answer to her question was simple.

"Yes, of course, you know I do." The harshness was forced out of his tone in an attempt to coax the truth out of her. Haylen was, after all, someone he considered a friend.

Contrary to the reaction he anticipated, she stiffened again and the insistence returned, "Then get out of your power armor."

It wasn't a request. Danse knew the scribe well enough to know when she was handing out orders. More times than he could count, she had ordered him around when she required medical assistance.

Again his eyes flicked to Geers who had detached himself from the ramshackle vehicle and dared to trespass ever closer. All the warning sirens screamed at Danse that he should be approaching this situation with vigilance. He should be combat ready, go in guns drawn, weapons hot, but these were his fellow soldiers. Yet, if that were true, why did it feel as if they had suddenly become his enemies?

For a moment Danse stood there, thumb tapping the release to his suit, as the conflict rolled in his head. The situation was all wrong. He should be mobilizing their departure and condemning his two soldiers for their errant conduct. Was he seriously considering complying with Haylen's demand? Was he really going to violate protocol? And for what, an objective he hadn't been briefed on? Then again, this was Haylen, what could Geers have possibly talked her into?

In spite of his better judgement, Danse sighed and hit the release. His armor popped and hissed as it opened and deposited him out into the open. Encased in the safe haven of steel, he hadn't noticed the chill or dampness that clung to the air. His skin prickled beneath his flight suit as he stepped around his armor and noticed that strange emotion creeping down Haylen's face again. He stood there unarmed and exposed all while Geers closed in to secure the scribe's left flank.

"There's something I need to show you." She couldn't quite maintain the impassivity and suddenly Danse realized what he was looking at.

Fear masked by pity. Haylen was afraid of him and whatever the underlying cause, it had her wallowing for him. With trepidation upon her face, she was watching his movements, studying him, and Geers was backing her up, waiting for Danse to slip up, ready to turn his gun on him.

Danse had made the wrong decision. It didn't matter what had happened between Geers and Haylen. They had come to the conclusion that they were no longer on the same side as their Paladin, for reasons unbeknownst to Danse. A single thought drove his actions, he needed to defend himself. Everything in him told him to lunge for his weapon, gun them down before they could fire off a shot. Thankfully, logic won over and he moved purposefully as he slowly reached for his rifle.

Before he could even lay hands on it though, Haylen issued a command, "Leave it."

An ugly expression hijacked Danse's features as he snatched up his gun and prepared to bring down hellfire on the two of them, "Scribe-"

"You're gonna want to do what she says." Geers had his gun drawn, safety off, leveled with Danse's face before Danse could even finish his threat.

Unsure of what exactly was happening, Danse was primed to pull the trigger, on one of his own, and he shouted at Geers for an explanation, " _What the hell_ -?!"

"Danse, please," Haylen moved in front of him and reached for his hands, blocking his shot, "lower your weapon."

"Stand down, Scribe!" Danse growled. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and his pulse skittered at the confusion about why he was being held up. On the outside though, he was the epitome of calm because he wasn't about to allow a facetious lancer gain the upper hand. He sincerely did not want to hurt Haylen, but if she was insistent on standing in the way, he would be left with no choice.

Her hands closed around his and with what strength she had, Haylen tugged at his rifle, attempting to force him to relinquish control. The jerk of his gun caused the scribe to stumble, but she was not deterred. She stood there, looking panic stricken between the two men, an unmovable force.

"Haylen, get out of the way!" Unlike Haylen, Geers was a carefully controlled storm of fury and Danse couldn't help wondering what he could have possibly done to warrant this outburst?

"Geers!" Haylen rounded on the lancer, turning her back on Danse. Apparently, she did not view him as much of a threat as Geers did. "You're not helping! Put your gun away, you promised you wouldn't overreact."

The lancer breathed heavily as his features gnarled together and Danse was about to shout at him once more to get his gun out of his face.

"Fine," Geers ground out. Slowly he lowered his pistol and returned it to the holster. He raised his hands in mock surrender and backed off, fixing Danse with a murderous glare of contempt, "you win-"

"Geers," Haylen warned again, "enough! Go back to the control room. Let me handle this."

After a moment of wordless scowling, Geers shook his head and turned around to sulk off back where he came from. Danse however, was not appeased and if Haylen hadn't been standing in the way he would have fired on Geers. As he tracked the lancer with his rifle, down the corridor and up the stairs, Danse felt Haylen put her hands on his arm.

"Paladin," she roused with a slight shake of his arm, but he refused to let his guard down, not until Geers had disappeared through the doorway.

As soon as he was gone, Danse bore down on Haylen. He grabbed the front of her uniform and yanked her toward him. She yelped at the forcefulness and with her toes barely touching the floor, her fingers scratched for purchase at his arm.

"What in the _hell_ was that about?" the snarl rose deep from within. He had been known to make initiates cry with that tone of voice, did he care? No. Not one bit. Danse had just been held up by two of his own soldiers without reason or explanation and they were lucky they weren't both bleeding out on the floor right now. If he didn't have so much respect for Haylen, he likely would have shot them both.

"Danse!" she squeaked as she squirmed, attempting free herself from his hold. "I'm sorry!"

Once again, against his better judgement, Danse released the scribe, "You've got about 30 seconds to start explaining."

"I-uh…" Haylen staggered backwards, visibly shaken by the whole ordeal and quickly trying to formulate a satisfactory response. "It will be a lot easier if I just show you."

Except Haylen wasn't the ranking officer here, Danse called the shots, not her. "No. I want answers now."

Again she reached for his arm as if to pull him along, but Danse jerked away from her grasp, he was done playing games.

"I don't...I need you to understand. I _have_ to show you." Haylen did nothing to conceal her desperation. "Please, we don't have much time. You just have to trust me."

"Like I trusted you before?" he snapped, quick on the return to call her out.

Haylen shrank farther away, cowering at the knowledge that she had led him astray, "Geers overreacted, I'm sorry." She did seem genuinely sympathetic as she shuffled forward again and caught his gaze, "However, he's understandably upset and his actions weren't unjustified."

"I don't understand," Danse admitted.

"I promise to tell you anything you want to know if you just come with me."

Danse considered letting her stand there and squirm as she begged a while longer, however he was ready to just get this over with so they could go home. "Alright, but if Geers turns his gun on me again, I won't back down this time, I'll fire on you both."

"I-" she sighed in defeat, "I suppose that's a reasonable compromise."

The uneasy feeling was returning and Danse rationed it never truly left. Nonetheless, he gestured towards the control room, "After you."

At being given permission to proceed, Haylen turned and marched off down the corridor towards the stairs. With his rifle in hand, Danse proceeded to follow her, irritated that he had allowed the situation to digress this far.

Apprehension was throttling his senses as they entered the room. The previous occupant had been forcibly removed when the Brotherhood troops had arrived and now Geers took up residence in front of the window. He stood there with his back towards them, arms folded across his chest, surveying the now empty warehouse. Danse had the absurd desire to smack Geers upside the head with the butt of his rifle but for the sake of maintaining the peace, he somehow managed to restrain himself.

"Sit." Haylen had dragged the chair across the room to the desk with the terminal.

Danse pried his eyes away from Geers to glare at the scribe. When had Haylen become so bossy?

"I prefer to stand."

Haylen leaned her hand into her hip and pointed at the chair, "You're going to sit, Danse, because you're not in a position to negotiate right now."

He was about to argue, "Don't make me repeat myself," but Haylen cut him off.

It was a good thing Danse was fond of his scribe, otherwise he would have gone off on her and likely gotten the lot of them killed. But for some stupid reason he shouldered his rifle and did as he was told.

The terminal was already on with the boot menu blinking on the screen. Danse watched as Haylen reached in her pocket and produced a holotape. She turned it over in her hands before reaching across him to load it up.

"This was handed off to Geers as he was preparing for departure to pick us up," she muttered as she clicked through the menu options. "Was told to make sure I saw it before we left back to the Prydwen."

Before executing the run command, she paused to look over her shoulder at him with the most despondent expression Danse had ever seen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and hit enter.

A split screen popped up with the word ' _MATCH'_ scrolled across both screens. Danse recognized the screen on the left, it was his Brotherhood record, complete with medical information and a picture that was taken shortly after he signed his enlistment paperwork. The screen on the right was similar, but Danse wasn't exactly sure what he was looking at. It also contained his medical information and a picture that he could identify but didn't quite recognize or remember. As his eyes scanned further down the page, below the picture that was obviously him, he suddenly froze, unable to speak or move or even breath.

Danse hadn't heard the movement behind him and as the muzzle of the gun pressed against the back of his head, he only registered one thing…

Unit designation: M7-97.

 _Synth._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Heeeyyyyy! I'm still alive! Wow, a month. Anyone still out there? I've had some stuff going on._

 _Usual thanks to MaxRev for beta reading this. I wanted to say THANK YOU to both MaxRex and Magpie_XIII for allowing me to toss ideas around and just being amazing, awesome, kind people in general. They have been so supportive of me and I can't say thank you enough. If you don't know them, you should._

 _As always, thank you so much for reading and following along! Feel free to as questions, I love talking Fallout! Hopefully it won't take me another month to write the next chapter._


	16. Beyond the Sea

**_Warning for implied suicide._**

* * *

 _"They tell you what you need to know_  
 _Tell you who you need to be_

 _When everything inside me_  
 _Looks like everything I hate..._

 _I'm standing on the edge of everything I've ever been_  
 _Standing at the edge of me."_

 _-On Fire, Switchfoot-_

 _Just breathe._

More times than he could count, Danse had held Jackie's hand in the dead of night and uttered those seemingly simple words as he reminded her that she was so much stronger than her night terrors. Barely half a day ago, Jackie had in turn laid with him, held him, and encouraged him to just keep breathing. But now-

"Did you know?!" like the howl of the gale, the violent lashing of locution assailed his ears, and he didn't understand.

Fingers seized his hair, metal ground against his skin, cut into his scalp. Those words... Letters and numbers and characters that spelled out the damning of his soul, his very being, like a distant flame, flickered on the screen.

 _Synth._

Nothing made sense. Lies and treason and _betrayal._ Everything he hated, the embodiment of what he fought against, contained in a single phrase before him - contained _within_ him. Fear and loathing had come to fruition before his eyes, pieced together by a string of numbers and letters that now defined him. The disassociation fell heavy and thick upon him as if the present wasn't truly his reality. As if he were an extension of himself witnessing the events unfold from another vantage point. It wasn't possible. Was it? Couldn't be real. Could it? How could he be the very thing he despised?

And he had forgotten...

 _Breathe, Danse, just breathe._

Was he? Such a rudimentary autonomic function, but Danse couldn't seem to remember how. _Breathe in_. And he forced his lungs to expand and contract, capillaries gobbling up the precious oxygen. _Breathe out._ His diaphragm relaxed, expelling dirty air into the atmosphere.

"Answer me!" The sensation of the barrel of the gun pressed against his skull felt muted and numb as the signal was crossed between misfired synapses.

Slowly though, Danse was coming around, the initial shock wearing off as Geers yelled his piece in the background.

 _Pull the trigger._

His instincts demanded he shout it, scream at Geers to do right by his duty and _pull the trigger._

But he was helpless and frail in the harsh reality of his condemnation. His mind refused to allow his mouth to form the words and instead he choked.

"I...I didn't know." _Weak._ A machine. Afraid to die. Abomination.

Geers tightened his hold, tearing at Danse's scalp as the lancer yanked him back by the scruff of hair held captive in his hand. "The Institute," the pain was a dull throb conveniently coexisting with the incurable throbbing within Danse's head, "did they send you?"

He needed more time to _think._ But his time was up and he just didn't know. Couldn't remember. He would know, right? He would remember being built and programmed and ordered out for infiltration. But what if that was the point? Perhaps he wasn't supposed to remember. The Institute having advantageously made him forget so they could freely mine data and steal his thoughts straight from his head without him ever knowing. The idea was terrifying and preposterous, yet not out of the realm of possibility.

"Did they?!" Geers growled at the silence Danse provided.

With the sharp crack of his head connecting with the gun again, something snapped and Danse's reality shifted back into place. The gravity of the situation came upon him like the battery of artillery fire, shaking the very foundations on which he stood, and his world came crashing down around him.

"Pull the trigger!" All but forgotten, his rifle clattered to the floor as Danse finally found his voice and his footing.

Hands reached, grabbed, pulled, as his body twisted around, knocking over the chair as Danse thrust the gun muzzle against his chest. Fingers entangled with Geers, groping for the trigger, as the two men invaded each other's space and struggled for claim over who would be bestowed the honor. "Pull the trigger!" Danse demanded again.

Jarred by the sudden and hostile movement, Geers faltered and Danse felt his grip slacken ever so slightly before rapidly regaining control. A predator poised to slaughter his prey, Geers advanced, pushing back against Danse, his lips peeled back to expose bared teeth. "I don't enjoy murdering innocent men but if the Institute sent you-"

"It doesn't matter." The fierce snarl slashed through the threat because Danse failed to see the point.

Whether or not he was sent by the Institute was irrelevant. If what he had seen was true, and not some morbid fabrication, then for the sake of humanity, for the Brotherhood and everything they stood for, Geers was obligated to pull the trigger. And if Geers was unable to fulfil this objective, then Danse would ensure that the job was completed properly.

"It matters Danse!" Rigor claimed both men as a pair of hands frantically attempted to pry them apart. _Haylen_. In his delirium, Danse had selectively overlooked the fact that she was still in the room. "Stop this! Both of you!" Hysteria threatened to rob her of her composure as she joined the battle of bodies with her pleas for peace slipping between them.

The mighty gale ceased mid-puff and Danse's sails deflated, left dead in the water from Haylen's slap of perspective, the sting of reality piercing his cheek. Danse acquiesced and shook himself free from the struggle with the show of hands.

As Danse inched away, Haylen quickly occupied the space between the quarreling men. She latched onto Geers, yanking at his arms in a feeble attempt to disarm him but failing miserably to gain or even maintain any ground.

Again, the strange disconnect was stalking Danse. Slowly creeping up his extremities until the tingling threatened to overtake him, poised to sink its talons into his mind and steal away his sanity. With Haylen's muffled shouts barely reaching deafened ears, his mind lingered on the question at hand...

 _Did the Institute send you?_

How could he know for sure? Danse tried to think, to remember. He combed through his mind, attempting to recall what was real and what was fake; except he came up empty handed. His mind revealed nothing. Only thoughts and memories of what felt like his very _human_ existence.

Geers shoved Haylen aside and had his pistol firmly drawn on Danse once more, "Answer the goddamn question Danse! Did the Institute send you?"

A moment passed where nothing happened. The eerie silence of death greeted the soldiers like a weary old friend and Danse wondered if he simply continued to stand and stare if Geers would finally give him the sentence he deserved. He wasn't afraid of death but he feared what he would leave behind.

It came upon him like the rising flood, sweeping him up in the current and pulling him down to be whisked away in the undertow - _Jackie._ He would likely never see her again. Suddenly, he was filled with regret. If only he had stopped her, told her to stay instead of sending her off to brave the wastes on her own. He should have told her how much she meant to him, confided in her about how his priorities had begun to shift. But now he would never get the chance and he wished he could just have one more moment. _God_ his chest hurt. Everything hurt at the realization that she was gone.

"Damn it-"

"I don't remember." Danse breathed defeat, facing the reality that this was the end of the line. He had no explanation, no argument, nothing to aid in his defense. He didn't know and his mind was filled with _human_ emotions and memories that couldn't possibly be his own.

Haylen tugged at Geers' uniform, begging for him to stand down, "William, please, stop this. Lower your weapon."

"Why?" Geers was unyielding, "Why should I believe a single word that...that traitor says?"

Of course Geers was right. All Danse could remember was devoutly serving the Brotherhood but what if that was what the Institute had programed him to do? Perhaps they had built the perfect soldier, the perfect machine, to serve without question in order to fulfil its sole duty - infiltration.

Danse stood resolute. Foremost, he was a Brotherhood soldier and part of being a Brotherhood soldier meant upholding the tenets, protecting the sanctity of mankind, no matter the cost. Even if that meant pulling the trigger on one of your own. Perhaps more than anyone, Danse understood this and Geers was right, why should he put any trust in Danse?

"You have an obligation to fulfil. I have nothing to offer you to corroborate my innocence. I remember my entire life as if it were my own and maybe you have some degree of respect for me, but that doesn't absolve you of your duty." Danse stepped forward and if he had to force Geers' hand he would. "Pull the trigger. That's an order."

Haylen however, wasn't having any of it. She grappled against Geers' outstretched arm in an attempt to break his stance. "Geers, don't you dare!" A brief second of uncertainty hovered across Geers' face as his eyes flicked from Haylen and back to Danse. Not having missed the momentary hesitation, Haylen plowed forward, "How long have you served the Brotherhood? Almost a decade?"

The shifting of Geers' eyes was all the confirmation she needed, "And how much of that time has been spent piloting for Danse? Ferrying around one of the most loyal, honest, and devoted soldiers the Brotherhood has? How many years have you worked with Danse? Can you even count the number of times he's risked his life for his fellow soldier? You know Danse. He's the embodiment of what it means to serve in the Brotherhood of Steel."

It was true, not long after completing his pilot's training and being approved to fly, Geers had unofficially been Danse's assigned pilot. As much as Danse didn't want to admit it, seeing as how the lancer had an affinity for breaking the rules, Danse held Geers in high esteem. Lancer-Knight William Geers was one hell of a pilot and Danse had difficulty trusting anyone else to sit in the cockpit. Not to mention, and Danse would be hardpressed to confess it, he had been the one who had recommended Geers for promotion a few years ago.

It appeared that Haylen had struck a chord with Geers as well. Ever so slightly he relaxed, just barely letting his guard down as his expression softened. It was a rare sight to see the lancer's face absent of that stupid grin he always wore and slowly, carefully, the normalcy was returning to his face.

"Come on Geers," Haylen had picked up on it too and pushed his arm down, "this is Danse we're talking about. I'm pretty sure he sleeps with a copy of the codex. He wouldn't lie to you."

Despite his slight change in demeanor, Geers still held his pistol at the ready, not entirely convinced, "How do we know he isn't an infiltrator or worse, he replaced the real Danse?"

Another plausible truth Danse couldn't argue against.

"Don't you think he would remember?" Haylen volleyed Danse's defense even though he had failed to conjure one himself. "If he was sent by the Institute, don't you think he would know? That he would have some recollection of the mission he was sent here to complete? Of who he really was?"

Precious seconds ticked by filled only by the void of sound and that odd sense of detachment further lacerated Danse's being because apparently his authority and opinion no longer mattered.

The corner of Geers' mouth twitched as he let the turmoil within fester and feed the uncertainty of his decision. Finally, he released the tension that held his body captive and with a sigh, Geers slowly lowered his gun, "I don't want to kill you Danse. I just had to be sure. You understand right?"

Danse said nothing. He didn't understand. Didn't understand any of it and was doubtful that he ever would.

As Geers holstered his weapon, Haylen muttered obscenities demeaning his intelligence and as soon as the pistol was safely stowed away, she rose to her full height and backhanded Geers as hard as she possibly could.

Stunned by the force and ear splitting crack, Geers stumbled backwards with a yelp, "The fuck's wrong with you Haylen?!"

"You've got some nerve William Geers!" Fuming and clearly close to tears, Haylen shouted at the lancer, "God I could just strangle you!"

Geers grimaced as he massaged his cheek along with his wounded pride, "Yeah, well you're lucky it's me! Anyone else wouldn't have hesitated."

As the two soldiers squabbled, Danse shook his head and righted the upturned chair, slumping down and catching his head in his hands. Where did he go from here? A large part of him refused to believe what he had seen. There had to be a mistake. It just couldn't be possible. How could he have gone his whole life and not known? Lived an entire lifetime as a lie. Everything felt so _real,_ felt as if it was his own but was it ever really his?

All he wanted was to return to the one place he had ever felt at home. Take a moment to think, to breathe, to feel _safe_ and sort this mess out but it had been hours since Geers had departed from the Prydwen. Danse knew Maxson and he knew the elder wouldn't sit on this information. By now, the announcement would have already been made. There would be scouts on the lookout and soldiers enroute to the glowing sea just to be sure. Orders would have been given to apprehend the Paladin, bring him in by any force necessary, likely having been told to shoot on sight.

If Danse returned to the Prydwen, he would be detained and questioned and when he produced no viable answers, executed without hesitation. The thought left him with no air to breathe and he had to force down the retching that churned up his gut.

He couldn't return.

"We've got to leave Danse." It was as if Haylen had read his thoughts and he felt the soft press of her hand on his shoulder as she shifted next to him. "Maxson will be expecting us back before long and when we don't show, he'll send someone to come looking for you - if he hasn't already."

He just turned his head and looked at her standing by his side, at a loss for words. Unsure of what to do because an entire army would be coming for him. They'd be out for revenge, for justice, for blood, and Danse wasn't sure if he even deserved the sentence of death anymore. The room was rapidly becoming empty and cold in the face of his own mortality. The beat of his heart quickly turned to vicious thumping and...and-

What was he supposed to do? He couldn't focus, couldn't think, and damn it, he was soldier! He wasn't supposed to be afraid. But as much as his insides burned with conflict, in the end he didn't want to die.

"Danse," Haylen knelt before him and took his hands in her own; he hadn't realized he was shaking. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, but you can't go back."

"She's right," even Geers had moved to stand beside him with an awkward pat on the back, "but don't worry, we'll get you out of here. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

His thoughts swirled and like a damn invalid, he stupidly stared at them. A child unable to defend himself; incapable of deciding for himself. He watched as Haylen stood and pulled at his hands, coaxing him to stand.

Danse gracelessly clambered to his feet as the meaning of his soldier's words settled through the fog in his mind. Haylen...Geers...they were conspiring _with_ him, putting their reputations and their lives on the line to help him escape. The way Danse saw it, his life no longer held much value and he figured, no matter what happened, death was waiting for him in the end. If he was going down anyway, he had to at least try to survive but he wasn't about to allow Haylen and Geers to go down with him - to risk their lives for a machine.

"If you deviate from your flight plan, it will raise suspicion." Danse could only hope that he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "You have to go back, both of you."

Haylen cast her eyes to rest upon Geers. Danse didn't miss the silent understanding that passed between them, wordlessly agreeing that whatever he said, they were going to do the exact opposite.

After a moment while cogs turned out the next move, Haylen spoke up, "I might I have an idea, but we have to move and you have to trust me."

The scribe ejected the holotape from the terminal and before Danse could even argue, she was tugging him along with a glance over her shoulder to ensure that Geers was in-tow. She led them out of the control room and down the stairs into the catacombs. Danse's mind was too numb to fully process what was happening. He didn't deserve their sympathy or their help, but what other choice did he have?

The silhouette of his most reliable and trusted friend greeted him as they prepared to board the cargo elevator. The urge to climb back into the safety of steel overwhelmed him and again he felt the pricking chill of the basement. Vulnerable and weak. No armor. No weapon. No strength. No _right_ to carry on. What was the point? The wastes would chew him up and spit him out without dignity or respect and look down upon his rotting corpse and laugh at his meager remains. Machines don't deserve to live; machines deserve to die.

"Danse," Haylen had her hands on him again, "you have to leave it."

He could only nod his understanding as he stepped on to the elevator and the goodbye threatened to choke him. He grieved the loss but what if the Brotherhood could use it to track him? Hunt him down and tear him apart on principle alone because he simply shouldn't exist. The risk was too great to take it and he no longer held the right to wear it. Machine driving a machine. The irony had his insides turning foul, ready to retch once again.

Left defenseless, ripped open for all to witness his fall from grace, they ventured out into the storm. Danse wasn't sure if the sickening feeling was a byproduct of his own disgust or the radiation exposure as it burned it's way through his skin. Artificial, synthetic skin that had been built to mimic the real thing. Fake. Counterfeit. Fraud. A sham encapsulated in the body of a man. A man that wasn't even real. A machine.

A hand on his shoulder was the only thing that kept Danse from toppling down the hastily repaired stairs as another heave of his gut rocked his body. Geers pushed him onward and hoisted him up into the vertibird and it was all Danse could do to slough down onto the hull of the troop load as Haylen slammed the door shut. The screaming winds now muffled to a dull whisper within the aircraft.

Hardly hearing, warily watching, Danse leaned against the metal frame as Haylen instructed Geers on what to do.

"Radio in and request a change in flight plan. Tell them I need to go to the police station before returning to the Prydwen." Haylen glanced back at Danse and even through the haze, he had a feeling he knew where this was going. "On the northeastern outskirts of Cambridge, there's a pre-war military checkpoint. Drop Danse off there. The fallback point isn't too far, he can make it on foot the rest of the way."

The pre-war military bunker they had scouted, carved into the hillside and hidden away in the northern countryside, that's where Hayley was telling him to go. It was safe, protected, and highly defensible and Danse had deemed it acceptable for habitation. The contingency had never been put into action, although maybe it should have been and as far as Danse knew the bunker remained undiscovered, tucked away and abandoned in the hills.

The energy to protest was drowned out as Geers fired up the ignition and the aircraft roared to life. As they took to the skies, Haylen came to sit beside him patting his knee and muttering words of reassurance. Even though Danse couldn't make out what Geers was saying, he knew what was happening. He had been privy to listening to the pilot sweet talk air traffic control to get what he wanted on several occasions and with a moment of grade A ass-kissing, Geers gave the thumbs up. By some stroke of dumb luck, his request had been approved.

The flight into Cambridge passed in a daze, wrought with silence as Danse teetered on the edge of panic. Occasionally Haylen would squeeze his arm or catch his chin in her hand to turn and peer into his eyes to make sure he hadn't succumbed to shock.

Danse was jolted back to his senses as the vertibird landed and before he could even get to his feet, Geers was killing the engine and Haylen was pushing the door open and jumping out. Geers had set down in the middle of the pre-war encampment. Skeletal remains, barricades, and broken down military vehicles cluttered the street.

"You know, I was thinking," Haylen started as Danse haphazardly slid to the ground, absently thinking that the muted tones of dusk was a fitting greeting, "there might be another option."

"There is no other option." This was the end. His eyes scanned the darkening horizon before sighting Haylen. Whether he was ready to accept it or not held no relevance, there was nowhere else for him to go except to run.

"Come back with us," of course Haylen wasn't going to let it go, "and confront Maxson."

"Haylen." The idea was ludicrous and if he had been in a better state of mind he would have shouted at her for her insubordinate and mutinous thoughts. Even now, Danse wouldn't betray the Brotherhood, wouldn't betray Maxson. "The execution order has likely already been given. I'll be walking into my death."

"Geers and I, we'll have your back. And I know there are others," still she was obstinate. "How do you think Geers got that tape?"

Danse opened his mouth to argue, to tell her it didn't matter, that none of it mattered, but she cut him off before he got the chance.

"You can't tell me you haven't heard the rumors," she glared up at him as she crossed her arms, "seen the unrest. The Brotherhood is unstable. Your brothers and sisters will fight with you. It doesn't matter what you are."

The soldiers were unhappy with Maxson's leadership and his increasingly violent and reckless behavior. Danse was aware of the conflict within the ranks, had personally shut down whispers of rebellion.

"No," he wanted nothing to do with it. "I won't incite insurgency. It will tear the Brotherhood apart and I refuse to be a part of it."

"But-"

"No!" Finality howled from his lungs, "I'm not discussing this anymore. I won't do it. I deserve whatever fate is coming for me."

The fire still sparked within her but Haylen relented with a disheartened sigh as her hands fell to her side. "At least let me come with you," she supplicated.

"Absolutely not. It's too dangerous." Danse would win the argument with stern command, "You've already risked too much. I won't allow you to sacrifice your career for me."

For a moment Haylen watched him, studying him for weakness but Danse would give her none.

Her face fell with acceptance, "You're sure? This is what you want?"

"Yes." He wasn't sure, but he could barely look at her, let alone answer her. If he lingered, it meant he would have to face what he was. Accept that his existence had been irreparably changed. Come to terms with everything that he was losing. And he couldn't, not here, not now. It would end him if he allowed himself to think beyond this simple goodbye.

"Damnit," Haylen couldn't contain her trembling as she threw her arms around him, "I hate goodbyes!"

It was all he could do to give her a pat on the back and prise her away, "I have to go."

"You deserve better," Haylen was wiping at her face as she slipped the holotape in his pocket and pressed a pistol into his hands. "I can't in good faith send you out into the wasteland unarmed but don't make me regret giving you this."

Danse nodded his understanding and as he turned leave, Geers called out from the propped open cockpit hatch, "Danse, it's been an honor," and graced him with a salute that he couldn't bring himself to return.

He gulped on the sticky summer heat of the Commonwealth and searched for words, only coming up empty. So Instead, he just kept on walking as the winds from the rotors beat at his back. He made for the low water crossing to the north with a sickening feeling rising from within at his inability to say goodbye.

Of all the decisions he had made, this was by far the hardest; saying goodbye to the only family he had ever known. Abandoning his career and everything he fought for. Turning his back on the Brotherhood. His life was crumbling, turning to dust and being kicked up into the storm of the darkening sky. All that remained was a sea of death and bones upon the horizon.

Without his armor Danse felt oddly weightless even though his feet treaded the ground with heavy strides. With each step he pushed onward, across the river and through the wilderness, avoiding the settlements and abandoned towns, with only the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears to accompany the death march to his tomb below the hills.

A man would have gone back to face the truth and accept whatever fate was given. A machine...only a machine would run and hide and cower. The heat was getting to him. Making his skin itch as his uniform strangled him. He picked at the fabric, scratched and clawed at, tore at it and he just wanted to be rid of it; to burn it in a magnificent pyre. He didn't think he could live without though, so he just kept running.

Time stretched on as Danse staggered through the night, tripping on the rocky terrain. He peered through the darkness and glanced over his shoulder, looking for movement, searching for the enemy, for the Brotherhood. And he realized that he was running as much from himself as he was from Brotherhood. He was no longer anything. He was nothing. Nothing but a machine programmed to live and breathe and die. Programmed to think it was alive. Programmed to live a lie.

Despite it all, he still kept running, until his feet stilled in front of a concrete structure etched into the hillside. He no longer had any idea what he was doing or why he had come here when he should have returned. Disgust rotted his gut and the vice squeezed his chest as his body pushed him forward, into the bunker and down the elevator.

The space below was dank and dark and still he sweat through his uniform despite the chill. Only a non-human would consider this place habitable. What was he supposed to do now? Wait? For what? For someone to come and kill him? Or was he supposed to live out his meager existence down in this hole?

Danse scratched at his skull and began his rounds. He questioned his existence and his purpose in life. Tried to pinpoint the moment in time that revealed he was not what he seemed. But again there was nothing. How could he feel so human? And he didn't understand. Why him? Why had this happened to him? He was loyal and devoted, had given everything he had to the Brotherhood and the betterment of humanity and this was how the gods repaid him.

He paced until there was no ground left to tread and he found himself sitting at the terminal. Sitting, staring, and all he could think about was Jackie. She made him think that maybe there was more to this life and sometimes she was the only thing that made sense. Even now.

What would she think of him now?

He missed her terribly and he selfishly wished she was there with him. She would know what to do, what to say to ease his racing thoughts. He hadn't deserved one second of time he had gotten with her, yet still he yearned for more.

As the minutes ticked by, he sat and stared at the walls of the godforsaken bunker, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to cope with the reality that he was a living lie. He had spent too long wondering why this had happened to him; the truth was it didn't matter.

Gone. All of it gone. Ripped from his hands because a single phrase had stolen it from him. M7-97 had stolen his life.

He had lost everything but was any of it his to begin with? With the realization of the truth, came the understanding that there was only one option. And like a soldier, a man, he would stare death in the face. Take back what was stolen from him, not because he was cowardly or despondent but because it was the _human_ thing to do.

So, he shoved the tape in the terminal and said the things he should have said all along. The gun in his hand, he raised it to press against his temple and he thought again of Jackie. Of mismatched eyes and the feeling of her in his arms, holding her and wanting more. Of the sweet sound of her voice...

 _Just breathe Danse._

And so he did, a sense of calm befalling upon his body. At peace with the finality of his decision, _'I'll see you on the other side,'_ he uttered a solemn goodbye to this life. To all that he had lost and he hoped that his death would not be meaningless.

 _Breathe in_ , his finger depressed the trigger, firmly squeezing until the click of completion echoed in his mind. _Breathe out_ , and darkness stole him away into the abyss of nothingness beyond his inconsequential existence.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ My usual thanks to MaxRev for her amazing beta reading and Magpie_XIII for providing invaluable insight to help me hammer out the plot and identify inconsistencies. She's like a Fallout encyclopedia and really does awesome plot work.

Chapter title inspired by a conversation I had with Magpie_XIII where we were discussing the many emotional states of Danse. She mentioned that he wonders what is on the other side of the ocean, hence Beyond the Sea. Seemed fitting here.

Well it's been another month and I've decided that I need to take a break from this. I know the timing isn't great but all this angst has been wearing on me. There is a lot to look forward to in the next few chapters. A lot of plot and I'm not willing to reveal what else...

It will likely be at least another month before the next update, but you never know. Thank you everyone for all your love and support and for your understanding that writing Sacrifices has taken a toll on my own emotional wellbeing.

If you are curious what I'm up to, you can follow me on Tumblr purple-martin87. Although I am getting ready to move and likely won't be back until afterwards.

Thank you again! I'm just so humbled by the overwhelming amount of positive support I've gotten. Thanks for reading and following along. Don't be a stranger, I'm always open to feedback, questions, and don't forget to share the love.

I'll be seeing y'all soon :)


	17. Mens Rea

_"_ _Even if you cannot hear my voice  
I'll be right beside you dear."_

 _-Run, Snowpatrol-_

Within the complete and utter darkness there was nothing. No footsteps, no hustle or bustle, no idle chatter or clanging of doors rippled through the air. The air reeked of rot, unlike how the wasteland stunk of decomposition. It was the rancid stench of death masked by the chloric tang of disinfectant that heaved the acid within his gut.

The distant hum of electricity coursed through the arteries of the infrastructure, a harrowing reminder that this place was alive, but for him there would be no redemption. No one survived. Not down here.

He was alone, save for his own heart knocking against his ribs, pulsing a labored whoosh in his ears, and the rasping breath struggling to leave his lungs. Had he been roused from unconsciousness or merely drifting above the surface? In his state he didn't know. Time ceased its progression after he took an elbow to the face and a needle in the neck.

 _"_ _Do not resist."_

Like hell would he be compliant. He knew his struggle was in vain, but he refused give up without a fight. So he spat in their faces and growled his curses until he was forced into submission by fist and fury and a side of sedative.

Now he lie a bloody mess, hands shackled behind his back and legs chained at his ankles. The jagged metal chafed his wrists as he attempted to alleviate the throbbing in his side, coating his hands in sticky warmth. His insides burned from broken bones cutting into his chest and no matter how he shifted, there was no relief from the agony.

Blood crusted his matted hair and seeped down his distended brow into his eyes. Swollen lids refused to cooperate as he tried to blink away the blurring and stinging of his sclerae. Perhaps the room was not devoid of light, rather his eyes swollen shut restricting the light from being received. The smell of mucousy copper clogged his airway as his body quivered and jerked.

Who knew Hell would be so cold?

The stoney floor numbed his body and nipped at his skin. His shoulder ached in protest against the unyielding ground. Movements sluggish and uncoordinated, he tugged against his restraints, managing only to roll face forward into a pool of his own blood. He coughed and sputtered as it oozed from his lungs and leaked from his lips. Rust in his mouth, he tried to spit but writhed from the crackling of his ribs as he groaned.

As he moved, desperate to reduce the pressure, attempting not to drown in his own secretions, his shirt pulled and scraped against singed wounds on his chest and abdomen. The smell of burnt flesh rolled bile up his throat, retching quaked his belly, spilling vomit upon the floor and smearing it across his face.

He had been reduced to a sniveling, choking pile of vile sickness. Tattered clothes sticking to his skin, filthy with his own excrement as he gagged and coughed. A distressing thought hammered at his battered skull - he was going to die down here. No vengeance or victory, only isolation and death. His bones would dry and no one would ever find him. Even though it was only a matter of time before he met his end, he vowed that they could beat him, torture him, kill him, but they would not break him - for in his death he would find honor and glory.

Blinding light suddenly chased away the all consuming darkness, burning his retinas with painful radiance. He meant to roll away but a boot pressed into his back kept him firmly in place.

"Subject 629." Flat, monotone...inhuman, the voice above him announced to an unknown entity in the doorway. His face dug into the ground, the image was blurred and distorted. The slits of his eyes couldn't distinguish if it was a man or a monster.

The boot released him to toe beneath his shoulder and kick him on his back. He grunted and blinked, squeezed his eyes shut. If only he could shut out the glaring overhead dome. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized the uniform. Dark clothes, dark skin, he - no it - had been there. In the shuffle he hadn't caught it's name. Did it even have a name? Did it even matter?

He jerked against his shackles, feeling hot but unable to manage more than a meager growl.

"Get him up."

From the doorway, the man in brilliant white approached, or perhaps he wasn't a man at all, just a phantom floating along as hands grasped his arms and yanked him to his feet.

Not a ghost, but a nightmare nonetheless. He knew of this _man_ , what they called him, and the atrocities he had committed.

"Can't have you dying on my nice clean floors, now can I?" The white cloaked egotist spoke with snide confidence.

He refused to give _zealot_ the pleasure so he threw himself forward and spit in his face. A bloody wash that dripped from his lips. With a sickening crack to his head, his ears were ringing, mind spinning, as blackness swirled amongst the light.

"I told you we need him alive," mumbled words drifted to his ears as darkness claimed him once more.

* * *

 _Danse._

 _Death was supposed to be easy. Painless, unthinking, unfeeling._

 _"_ _I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult for you. I wish Maxson had sent someone else."_

 _Instead it dripped from the ceiling, squished beneath his boots, smeared the walls sticky crimson, stained his hands as he stumbled through the gore._

 _"_ _Don't let your feelings for me cloud your judgement. This is the right thing to do."_

 _The foul stink of dismemberment gnawed his breath away. Amidst the red haze, she stood before him._

 _"_ _On your knees."_

 _Bloody pulp soaked through his uniform as he fell forward without hesitation. An impassive embodiment of ideals greeted him, the barrel of her gun pressed against the back of his head._

 _"_ _I've never been prouder of you than I am right now."_

 _Acceptance unfurled on his lips, but no compassion would be given here._

 _"_ _Danse."_

 _The gunshot deafened him, cracked his skull. Hands clawed at his skin, talon-like nails ripped the flesh from his bones, tore through ligaments, bruised his body._

"Danse."

 _Arms and legs flailed as he fell, pulled down by spindly spirits into hellish depths. Fire licked at his skin, singed his throat. The putrid stink of blistering flesh burned his nostrils, heaved his gut. Searing pain contorted his body, gagged him with convulsions of bile. Though he deserved his damnation, he cried out, begged and shrieked, pleaded for an end to his unbearable torture._

"Danse!"

Spasms seized him, shook his very being. He scratched and clawed, desperate to smother the flames upon his charred flesh, but hands held him down, restrained him, as he thrashed about attempting to break the bonds.

"Shhh...stop, stop!" He knew that voice...but how? In his death had he somehow conjured her? "Danse, it's okay. You're alright."

His eyes snapped open and his pupils frantically swept the surroundings. Overwhelmed with an absence of fire and brimstone, instead greeted by dull gray. Cement walls lined the room and caged him in his own hell on earth.

"It's just me, you're safe."

The scratching ceased and he stopped resisting at the feeling of his wrists caught within her grasp. Slowly she released him, her fingers skimming up his arms to rest upon his shoulders before pressing her palm to his cheek.

"Look at me," she breathed, a gentle reassurance to draw his focus until he was moored to the shoals of her gaze.

She knelt beside him, cradled his face between her hands and recognition sprung a flood of rising warmth within him. The thumping of his heart eased and his helpless panting slowed at the sight of her.

"Jackie," he croaked, unable to form coherent sentences, but needing to understand that she wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Danse reached for her, to pull her into his arms, if only just to touch her, to know that she was real but his limbs locked up, refused to grant him access to her skin beneath his fingers. Luckily, she picked up on his distress and rescued him from his plight. Jackie scooted over and tugged his arms around her shoulders and waist.

"I'm here," she whispered as she curled herself into his embrace, the nightmare all but forgotten because in that moment Danse felt whole.

He clung to her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Jackie was his lifeline, the preserver that kept his head above the water in the warring sea within his mind. Warmth radiated from her body pressed against his, the only thing that tethered him to this world, reminded him that she was alive and breathing, as was he.

Slowly, his mind eased him back to the present and forced him to remember that the bleak walls surrounding them were his prison. He had awoken not to morbid comfort of the bunker but rather the confines of the Brotherhood stronghold at the airport.

That's right. His inability to keep his anger in check had nearly gotten them both killed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into the void of her jacket collar.

His face burned at the idea that he was the reason Jackie was in this mess to begin with. That just by his choice to continue living, he had put her in danger. She had suffered for him by proxy, paid the price for his existence by enduring the lashes meant to maim him. Maxson had vowed to destroy him and instead, Jackie had taken the brunt of the Elder's beatings in Danse's stead. He had put his filthy hands all over her. Violated her and desecrated her body. Coerced her into his perversion under the false pretense that she owed him. It was disgusting and wrong and Danse intended to deliver fair and just punishment.

He had meant what he said. He would burn down the commonwealth for her, would do anything for her - sacrifice himself, trade his life for hers. Yet, all he had managed to do was fail her...again. If he survived this ordeal, he vowed to spend a lifetime making it up to her, righting his wrongs, and protecting her until his dying breath. Never again would she suffer for him.

Jackie shifted within his arms but he squeezed her tighter, unwilling to release her just yet. All the while, hoping that the meaning and depth of his feelings for her were conveyed in that simple gesture.

"It's alright," she freed her hand, caught between their bodies, to comb her fingers through his hair.

The very idea that she would excuse his behavior because she blamed herself was ludicrous. Danse loosened his hold to set her straight but one look in her eyes as she leaned away had him deciding that now was not the time for arguing.

Despite the sadness that lingered in her eyes, she was beautiful. The glow from the overhead dome making the prominent freckles that covered her face stand out more than usual. Danse smiled and stroked his thumb across her cheek, as if the spots would somehow feel different beneath his finger.

He should tell her. Tell her all the things he felt, that she was beautiful and how his world made sense when she was around. She gave him purpose and a reason to keep living. That in spite of everything they had been through, he loved her more than words could express. It didn't feel right though. The timing was all wrong and...for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to properly convey what she truly meant to him.

"I don't deserve you." Her eyes hovered a moment before they dropped away.

The absurdity of her statement had him reaching for her once more. To draw her in, hold her, and kiss her cheeks, shower her with affection and repeatedly tell her how wrong she was until she actually believed him. But the coat shrugged off her shoulder and her shirt collar slipped down as she pulled away and there was no more hiding from reality.

"Jackie," he seized her shoulders, halting her retreat, "what did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she pawed at his hands, refusing to look at him. "I'm fine."

Crusted blood cut across her throat and bruises had formed around her neck. Maxson. That traitor. He'd choked her. Held her up at knifepoint. Threatened her.

"He hurt you," his blood boiled and fury threatened to set his skin aflame, sure that Jackie could feel the shaking of his hands as he peered at the stark evidence left behind by Maxson's greed. "That...that th-" Danse somehow managed to catch himself, knowing full well he had no right to make that judgement but unable to keep the obscenities from invading his mind.

"It's nothing." Her hands pushed against his chest, eyes frantic and pleading, "Just let it go. Please, Danse, let it go."

Was she afraid of him? Did she think that he too would hurt her? Hold her down? Refuse to let her go? Disgusted at the thought, Danse immediately released her, realizing that his anger, while not unjustified, was only making the situation worse.

Jackie slid away and Danse feared that he had damaged their relationship, fully expecting her to storm out the room. However, she merely leaned back against the wall beside him, eyes angled towards the ceiling. For a moment he fidgeted in frustration, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Again, he was rescued by a sort of smile and her hand quieting his fingers drumming away upon his thigh.

"I…" she started but only managed a shake of her head before trailing off.

"You don't owe me an explanation," he took her hand in his, gently slipping his fingers between hers, entangling them in union. The need to keep her safe, protect her at any and all costs tingled in his chest as she sidled up to him and settled her head on his shoulder. "I got us into this mess, I promise I'll get us out."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she sighed as she continued to side-eye him.

"Jacqs-"

"Why do you call me that?" Suddenly she tensed up and sat straight, pulling her hand with her.

Confused by her unexpected reaction, "I-I don't know," he admitted.

Apparently he had said the wrong thing and he was reminded of how the nickname had caused an adverse reaction in his quarters the night before they left the for the glowing sea.

"And," she pinched at the bright blue fabric covering his arm, "where did you get _this_."

Danse's brows scrunched together, "Trader at Greentop." What did it matter? "Said he used to be a resident of vault 81. Civilian clothing and power armor don't fair well together. Things get caught. The trader offered a fair price, so I bought it off him." Danse studied the ground with a rise and fall of his shoulders before quiety adding, "It felt wrong to wear the Brotherhood uniform."

Jackie pushed at his arm and he shifted forward so she could read the number on his back. Did she think he wasn't being truthful? It seemed he was missing something.

Silence filled the room at his admission and it was Jackie's turn to fidget nervously. She dragged a hand down her face, massaging her jaw before finally speaking, "There's something I need to tell you. Well…" she fished around in her pocket and pulled out a folded and crumpled piece of paper, "maybe it's better if I show you," and handed it over to him.

Careful not to tear it, Danse took it and unfolded it to reveal a black and white photo, the gloss peeling away from the paper and creased from being repeatedly folded. For a moment he just stared, unsure of what he was looking at. With a crooked smile and a baby in his arms, a dark haired, dark eyed man peered up at Danse. The feeling of recognition without actually remembering was unsettling and all too familiar.

"Nate didn't do serious." An explanation offered up from beside him. "And he hated pictures."

"Jackie…" This man in the photo, Nate, her husband, he had Danse's face...or rather Danse had his. But how...? The photograph had clearly been taken over 200 years ago, and yet there he was.

"I just thought you deserved to know the truth." She had inched away, quietly eyeing him, chin propped against her knees.

His eyes flicked from Jackie and back to the picture. _No…_ Finally, understanding creased his forehead. 60 years had passed since her son was kidnapped. 60 years for the Institute to design and make whatever they pleased. 60 years for their perversion to create a replica of her husband.

Danse's world shifted and the room spun. Jackie...he trusted her. She wouldn't…would she? God he felt sick. Realization twisted and churned his gut into knots. She would. She had.

"You lied to me," he accused with a snap of his head, heavy brow shadowing his eyes.

The accusation had her recoiling as if she hadn't expected it, "No-"

"Omission is the same is lying Jackie. You of all people should know this." The photo fluttered to the floor as he stumbled to his feet, clawing his fingers through his hair. "You hid the truth from me!"

Jackie meagerly swiped the evidence off the ground and stowed it away before shrinking into the wall and pulling her knees to her chest once more.

The nagging suspicion had sunk its way into his skull, refusing to release him as he circled the space. "You knew," the room swayed. "Christ… Jackie, all this time you knew!" Still, she offered no defense, only cowered on the floor as if she was somehow the victim here. Danse couldn't think, couldn't see, could breath. All he heard was his pulse pounding in his ears as he rounded on her. "Didn't you!"

The lacerating tone of his voice made her flinch, but Danse didn't care. She had lied to him. He stood huffing, unable to contain the anger that the deeply entrenched sense of betrayal had released.

Seconds ticked by and Jackie was frozen on the floor. Didn't move or breathe or blink. Good. She deserved his harsh words. For months she had walked around as if nothing was amiss, had led him on and made a mockery of his trust and respect.

Finally it seemed life poured back into her. "What was I supposed to do?" she shouted as she threw up her hands.

Danse pointed his finger at her, scolding her like a petulant child, "I told you, all I expected from you was honesty."

"Yeah, that would have gone over real well." Hands pushed against cold cement as she found her voice to match his shouting. "What would you have done if I had told you the truth? Would you even have believed me? Accused me of being an infiltrator? Actually turned yourself in to Maxson? Put a bullet in your head...or maybe even mine?"

His jaw pulsed and his nostrils flared because he didn't know.

"Huh, Danse?" It was Jackie's turn to deal blows. "Answer me that. What good would it have done?"

Of course, she was right. It wouldn't have done anyone any good but it begged the question, why tell him at all?

Still Jackie stood, a monolith, leaning her weight on her hip and arms tight across her chest like it was no big deal. For the second time in recent weeks, Danse's world had been turned upside down and he couldn't halt his mind from jumping to conclusions. What else had she lied about? Danse had thought she cared for him. Loved him perhaps, but was any of it real? Was the only reason she felt anything for him because he looked like her dead husband?

The devastating reality that it was entirely possible and highly likely stole the breath from his lungs. Once again, he had become a tool, an object used for self gratification. Dizziness scattered his concentration and suddenly it was all too much to process. Danse couldn't even stand to look at Jackie anymore.

"We're done here." He turned on her to go bang on the door and shout at the knight outside to remove her from his presence.

There was fumbling from behind him, "Danse-"

"Get out." It was an order that wasn't up for debate. She had knowingly and willfully lied to him and he wasn't even sure if he knew who she was anymore.

Jackie sputtered to a stop, watery eyes darting from him to the door, mouth strung open. "But- I…" whatever she was going to say was lost as she snapped her mouth shut and straightened up with a roll of her shoulders.

The room was crossed in a few quick strides and Danse was left with more questions than answers as he watched her rap her knuckles against the metal. She paused as the heavy metal door swung open, and she crossed the threshold, turning to bid him one last farewell.

"I never meant to hurt you." And just like that she was gone. Vanished before he could even process what had happened.

As soon as the door slammed shut, emptiness settled into his bones as he surveyed the vacant space around him. Anger and bitterness sowed the seed of loneliness and Danse was plentiful on all accounts tonight. Jackie had deserved his wrath, but what if he had been wrong? Betrayal flamed his anger anew and yet there were always two sides of the story. Perhaps he should have heard her out.

The incessant pacing of his frustration ceased and he collapsed into the chair in the center of the room, catching his head in his hands, elbows rested on the table. He didn't understand. Finally he felt as if his life had meant something again, only for it to be snatched away. Had Jackie been in on it? Did she take part in his creation? Had she just been stringing him along, feeding him lies this entire time?

Danse knew better. Of course she hadn't. Fortunately, he had spent enough time with her to know that she was genuine. There wasn't a selfish or malicious bone in her body. It didn't stop him from being angry at her deception though. Her timing could have been better...but so could've his reaction. Once again, Danse had let his emotions get the better of him and they left him feeling a fool.

More than anything, he regretted his words because come tomorrow he may be a dead man and deep down he loved her. He always would. What if it was too late and he never got the chance to hear her out? To get answers to his questions? He may never see her again, never have the chance to tell her he adored her, no matter the reason behind her feelings for him and how sorry he was for shouting at her.

With a sigh, Danse resigned himself to crumpling on the table. It seemed there would be no sleep, nor redemption, for him tonight.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

Well that took longer than expected. Life got in the way. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait.

Huge thank you to MaxRev for continuing to beta read. I don't know what I would do without you!

Thanks everyone for sticking around and reading. As always, feedback is appreciated. Share the love, ask questions, whatever. Y'all are awesome and I continue to be overwhelmed by the support my fic has received. I just have a wild and untamed imagination and finally have a place to share :)


	18. Actus Reus

_**A/N:**_ __ ____Huge shout out to my amazing beta-reader MaxRev. I write the words but she makes them make sense. Also, to MagpieXIII because without her I don't know I would have even gotten this far.

* * *

 _"Whoever said love was easy,  
Do you know they told you wrong?"_

 _Easy, John Newman_

The mattress groaned beneath her as Jackie rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. Over and over, the events of the day looped through her mind. The last twenty-fours had taken it's toll with Danse's outburst being the cherry on the top. His anger was justified and he had every right to shout at her. Still though, his words had stung because she was just trying to do the right thing.

Jackie had left his holding cell with her head held high, _don't let them see you cry_ , and made straight for the exit. A lashing of rain greeted her as she heaved the door open. As it slammed shut, lighting split the sky with a boom of thunder that reverberated through her bones and Jackie screamed at the heavens above because it seemed the gods were mocking her.

No one could see her tears through the sheets of rain that pelted her sodden body as she surrendered herself to the madness. No would hear her shout and cry as she ripped at her hair, nails gouging into her flesh. No one except a young Initiate who had the audacity to mumble a _'ma'am?'_ and remind her that there were still eyes watching among the midnight downpour.

 _Lemus_ and that goddamn gate guard observed her meltdown like the lunatic she was. All manner of sanity washing away with the rain, Jackie sloshed back to the compound with a one finger salute and muttered _'fuck you_ ' to the sentry as she crossed the threshold. Somehow, her feet managed to carry her to the vertibird, back to the Prydwen, and before she knew it, the door to her room clicked shut behind her as collapsed on her bed, a sopping mess.

What was she expecting? Forgiveness? Acceptance? Jackie had broken Danse's cardinal rule, so why on earth wouldn't he be angry? After everything she'd put him through, she shouldn't have expected any less and she certainly deserved far worse.

Over the recent weeks, there had been so much she'd kept from him, hidden behind the facade of fear. She had hoped in the end he would pardon her transgressions, but after this, she didn't know how they would ever mend their mangled relationship. Not that she was worth mending.

Danse's reason for existence had been stolen from him and just when he had started to believe that his life had value - that _he_ had value - she had snatched it away. Jackie had been so consumed by her greediness to keep him close, and her fear of losing him, that she allowed herself to pretend the truth didn't matter. It was selfish and she knew Danse deserved better.

Between her betrayal and the deception, Jackie knew there would be no forgiveness. Even if Danse was somehow willing to overlook her improprieties, she wouldn't allow him to pursue her. Not after this. Whether she had intended to or not, she had destroyed his life, ruined him, and now she no longer held any claim over him. If they survived this ordeal, she would do right by him and let him go, allow him to live his life in peace without her. Perhaps with her no longer burdening him, Danse could finally find the happiness he deserved.

Yes, it would be better for them both if she just disappeared from his life.

Upon her first run in with Danse, she hadn't known about the Institute and their synths. So what basis did Jackie have back then? None, she supposed, other than the farcical understanding that the soldier that stood before her looked like her Nate. During that first encounter, she had lost her goddamn mind, shoved her gun in his face and everything, managing only to get herself forcibly ejected from his compound.

Months had passed since the _incident_ and when Jackie came crawling back, begging to enlist, she knew a little something more and she'd had her suspicions. At first, Jackie could hardly stand to look at Danse, let alone tell him she thought he might be a synth based on an unfounded theory. By the time she knew for sure, it was too late. She had come back from the Institute with renewed confidence in her convictions but she was in over her head with the Brotherhood and if she was being honest...in far too deep with Danse to tell him the truth.

It hadn't been her intention to hurt him, she just wanted to keep him safe. She hadn't known what to do then, and she sure as hell didn't know what to do now.

How could she possibly fix this?

Again, Jackie shifted restlessly and turned her head to sweep one eye lazily across the room that had been given to her but was never really hers. The gleam of gunmetal glittered from the desk and suddenly the solution clicked into place with the catch of her breath as she pushed herself upright. Knees dragged from beneath her to hang from the edge of the bed, eyes settling on renewed hope.

It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about it. She was ready to follow through in the bunker and merely an hour ago, that same gun had been in her hands. Her reason for living was now a moot point. Danse would never forgive her and why should he? So, what was stopping her?

Obsession twitched her fingers and impelled her to stand, the glimmer of silver a sparkling beacon that lured her forward with the promise of safe harbor. Jackie stood before the desk staring down upon the assurance that once again, she could have the power of control.

The cold, hard metal was heavy in her hands as she held the pistol. She tested the weight, palmed the grip, fingers traced the grooves and ridges. The smooth contours of the barrel against her fingertips set her limbs atingle. The thrill of her finger teasing the trigger made her wonder how the muzzle would feel pressed against her skull.

What else did she have to live for? There was nothing left to lose, so why not?

She hoped that after her death, Danse would find peace, move on with his life and find what he was searching for.

An ugly, bitter sound bubbled from her lungs because the barrel of the gun against her temple felt like freedom. Finally, control was placed back in her hands. This...she could chose this - life or death. Life was hard but death was a gift: A flower that bloomed to embrace her, the freedom of release, an opportunity to hit the reset button as if none of this had ever happened, to die with dignity like she should have down in the vault.

A smile slipped across her lips. Soon she would be crossing the threshold, going home where she belonged. Her finger lovingly caressed the trigger, tested it, pulled it ever so slightly. Halfway there and her heart raced, heat coursing through her veins. A feeling of elation enveloped her mind, excited her, and spread comforting warmth throughout her body. This was it. The end. Her choice. Her death. Coming to fruition in her hands.

The wetness on her cheeks was unexpected but not unwelcomed. It would be over soon, she reassured and she wondered...would she feel it or would she simply slip away into blissful oblivion? Fall right on through, another pin prick in the cosmos of the night sky.

The last image of Nate in the vault danced in her mind as she squeezed hard on the trigger. Her body tensed in anticipation of the click of the hammer and she uttered one last promise to the ghost of his memory, "I'll see you on the other side, Dixie."

"Jackie!"

Clanging metal cleaved the air and static filled her ears. Her body rigid as darkness dizzied her and she swayed, staggering over until finally she was falling. Falling...falling...falling away until her head cracked with stars against unyielding steel.

"Goddammit!"

Words muffled, a distant sound, her soul viciously shaken from her being. _Is this what happens when you die?_

"Look at me..."

Breath crushed from her lungs, singed her throat as she gulped for air. Was she supposed to keep breathing?

"Jackie!"

Ringing in her ears, wet and warm, her face burned.

"Come on..." slaps stung her cheeks, "open your eyes, look at me!"

Open her eyes but…?

Slowly the shock was wearing off and damn, her head was _killing_ her. The steel of the Prydwen's hull frigid against her aching bones, the wind knocked out of her and her chest aflame as she tried to breathe. She had toppled to the floor and the weight of a body now pressed against her.

Through the watery slits of her eyes, Haylen's blurry figure pieced together, her face a gnarl of emotion hovering above her. Jackie's chest heaved because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Wasn't supposed to end like this.

"You shouldn't be here." A breath that sounded suspiciously like desperate sobbing whispered from Jackie's lips.

Haylen said nothing, only angled a panicked look down as she shuffled to push herself upright. The heat in Jackie's cheeks crept into her ears and she wasn't sure if she was ashamed of being caught or angry at being robbed the prospect of freedom. Paralysed from the painful thumping caged within her chest, she helplessly stared as silent tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. They stained a trail down her cheeks, catching in her ears before dripping into her hair.

She didn't know what to say. What words could possibly explain the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that clutched at her heart and feasted on her sanity? Words did not give justice to the feelings of inadequacy and guilt that fed her lies and masqueraded as the truth: That she would never escape her retribution, that she would live out her days a slave to lust and greed because that's what she deserved. She had failed and redemption was only for the righteous.

A long moment passed while Jackie thought the chasm of grief would swallow her, before Haylen finally spoke, "Were you really going to pull the trigger?"

 _Yes._ Her mind bit off a response but her mouth charmed a lie, "I don't know."

Fingers stretched for the pistol knocked just out of reach. Haylen, however, didn't miss a beat and snatched it up before Jackie could even entertain the idea of reclaiming it. She turned the gun over in her hand, pausing just long enough for Jackie to clearly see the safety was still engaged and ejected an empty clip. It had been her intent to follow through but in her delirium Jackie had gotten desperate and careless.

The gun was shoved haphazardly back on the desk as Haylen dragged herself to lean against the bed frame. She hauled Jackie's torpid body to sit beside her with a well of emotion gathering in her eyes. Shaky hands frantically pushed her hair out of her face while Haylen's eyes flicked about, examining her for trauma.

"Are you hurt?" Haylen struggled to maintain a sense of calm, her voice fretting when she spoke.

Instinctively, Jackie pressed at the knot on the crown of her skull and winced at the tenderness.

"Yeah, you knocked your head real good," fingers combed through her hair as the scribe peered at the growing bump, "but it's not life threatening." Haylen gripped Jackie's shoulders in her hands and the fight for composure slipped off her face, "What were you thinking?" Her voice shaky, she pulled Jackie close, "People care about you. What about everyone you leave behind?"

Oh the irony. It was the same line she fed Danse in the bunker. Except, she had meant every word and suspected he hadn't really wanted to die, he just needed someone to tell him it wasn't a crime to exist.

What _was_ she thinking? Did she really want to die? Jackie didn't know anymore. All she wanted was her suffering to end, to no longer feel the insurmountable guilt that the wasteland dealt in spades. Eating a bullet seemed like the logical choice. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Haylen pressed her face into the rain soaked collar of Jackie's coat. "What would your death do to Danse?" Her question muffled by the fabric. "It would ruin him."

Jackie blinked out a fresh set of tears, "I already have." She was pathetic. Her voice a mere croak, she sat a listless lump of a human being, unable to even return her friend's embrace. "I betrayed him."

"No," Haylen lifted her head with a shake and took Jackie's face between her hands, "you didn't do anything wrong. Danse knows this."

She shrugged Haylen away and dug the heel of her palm across her eyes, "I don't know if he does."

"He wouldn't be down there pacing his cell if he didn't." A reassurance of a smile was offered up but Jackie wasn't having any of it. She didn't deserve Haylen's sympathy.

"You don't understand." What would Haylen think of her if she too knew the truth? "I lied to him."

A hand gently squeezed her shoulder, "He'll forgive you."

 _Oh Haylen… if only you knew._

The bed frame creaked as Jackie slumped against it and cast her eyes to stare upon the ceiling.

"Jackie," it seemed her silent sulking wasn't cause enough for Haylen to relent and let her brood in peace, "the man loves you more than he loves himself. Even if he hasn't explicitly told you, he adores you. He has for a long time; he's just been too stubborn to admit it."

Noted and denied. "He deserves better."

It didn't matter that Jackie loved him so goddamn much it had driven her to act irrationally out of fear of losing him, Danse deserved someone good. Someone who would love him properly, who would take care of him and make him feel like a man. Someone who would help him heal and find value in his life again, bring him happiness and help him understand that his life meant something. That someone wasn't her.

"Better?" Haylen leaned forward in attempt to catch her gaze. When Jackie didn't immediately respond, she pressed her fingers against Jackie's jaw to angle her face towards her. "You are the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. People look up to you, they respect you. You embody strength and resiliency. If Danse deserves anyone it's you."

Damn Haylen and her kindhearted nature. If Jackie wasn't careful, the woman and her endlessly endearing blue eyes were going to make her believe her friend's words. Jackie didn't know how to respond so she just looked away, feeling embarrassed by the praise.

"You don't have to believe me but it's true." Haylen's fingers resting against her chin and the steadfast optimism had her feeling uncomfortable.

"What are you even doing here?" Jackie diverted, still unable to bring herself to look at Haylen. "Shouldn't you be at the police station?"

Hands fell to her sides, "Quinlan's had me cataloging data from the Institute hack. I haven't been back to the police station since before..." her breath caught before she exhaled her misgivings, "before Danse's 'execution'."

That made sense but still Jackie wondered, "How did you get in my room?"

"You weren't exactly quiet in your warpath to your quarters. And," at her pause, Jackie chanced a glance at the scribe only to be met with hard accusation etched within Haylen's brow, "next time you plan on killing yourself, you should really consider locking the door."

Jackie scoffed at her gall, "Oh yeah? Well, it wasn't exactly on my list of priorities."

"Or maybe you didn't intend to follow through." Was that a smirk that accompanied the rise of her shoulders?

"You've got some nerve." Jackie's arms were tight across her chest and she wasn't sure if she should laugh or be offended. Instead, she settled for the grand canyon of scowls.

Haylen only shrugged at Jackie's defense, "At least it got you feeling something other than sorry for yourself."

Jackie gawked before snapping her mouth shut. Damn. She was right. Leave it to Haylen to make light of her attempted suicide and have her feeling like maybe she wasn't as crazy as she thought she was. She still felt broken but having Haylen sat beside her helped ease a part of her aching.

For awhile they sat in silence, Jackie side-eyeing her friend, while Haylen happily drummed a tune on knees. Her cheerfulness uncanny, Jackie was about to comment on it when Haylen abruptly stopped her fidgeting.

"Why are you still wearing those wet clothes?" Haylen pushed herself to her feet and was halfway across the room before Jackie could even respond. A dry shirt and sweatpants were plucked from the lockers while Jackie clambered to stand.

It was all Jackie could do to just stand there and look like an idiot because she knew what Haylen was expecting upon her return pursuit. The clothes were thrust into her chest but she merely gaped and let them lamely bounce off her.

"Well?" When nothing happened, Haylen popped a brow and tossed the clothes on the bed, "I'm not going to leave you here alone after that stunt of yours." Still Jackie didn't move. "So turn your back and pretend I'm not here if you feel uncomfortable."

It wasn't that she had been struck with a bout of modesty, privacy wasn't a luxury afforded in the military, it was just…the jacket, the clothes, all of it was meant to hide what Maxson had done to her.

Her hands twisted together attempting to stall and at the lack of clothes falling to the floor, Haylen reached for the lapels of her coat, "Am I going to have to do it for you?"

"Don't touch me." Jackied shoved her hands away and turned her back on her, all the emotions she had been trying to escape welling up within her once more.

She stood there a moment, her arms snapped across her chest, overcome with the desire to tell Haylen where she could shove it. But what good would it do? Haylen would likely march down to med bay to fetch Cade and have her strapped to a gurney on suicide watch. That was the last thing she needed.

After a moment of contemplation and much anguish over her current situation, Jackie sighed and conceded. She should just get it over with before Haylen could utter some indignant remark and strip her down against her will. With her heart in her throat, she shrugged out of her jacket and turned back around.

Haylen's eyes widened as they lingered on the still forming bruises around her throat, the blotches on her chest that disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. Slowly, those blue eyes slid down her her arms, pausing to take in the purpling fingerprints peeking from below her sleeves before finally stopping to absorb the grisly scabs that remained from the chafing of her restraints.

"Oh…" Haylen's face fell with quiet understanding and Jackie felt incredibly vulnerable. Exposed for harsh judgment and condemnation, she hadn't even shown Danse the extent of her injuries for fear of how he would react.

She expected Haylen to react in kind but instead she was greeted with empathy. Soft features encouraging her not to be afraid and promised that no explanation was owed here.

"Can I?" Haylen gently approached as she gestured to the hem of her shirt.

Again, Jackie was blinking back tears as she nodded her consent.

The shirt was delicately lifted up over her head and Jackie couldn't bear to look as Haylen surveyed the extent of the bruising, Aashamed that she had allowed Maxson to manhandle her and that she had been afraid to fight back.

"Is it ok if I touch you?" It seemed Haylen was attuned to her insecurities and waited for Jackie to again nod her agreement before rolling her wrists in her hands.

Careful fingers skimmed her skin, checked the visible wounds and Jackie gathered it was impossible to hold back a flood so let the tears roll down her cheeks. Haylen graced her with the dignity of silence as she continued her exam. Her bones ached and she wasn't sure if it was from the bruising deep within her muscles or the unseen emotional trauma that rasped against her ribs, stole her breath, and spilled her guts to burn her insides.

Eventually, Haylen broke the silence, "The bruising is skin deep but I know not all bruises are visible." She offered up the dry clothes from the bed, "Are you sore?"

Reluctantly Jackie breathed a reply while taking stock in the floor, "Yeah." If she said no, she'd be lying, and she figured she had told enough lies to last a lifetime. She trusted Haylen and perhaps the truth would do her good for once.

By an act of kindness, Haylen reached up to catch her tears and wipe Jackie's face with the sleeve of her uniform. She helped Jackie peel off her remaining clothes and climb into the safety of clean, dry ones. The wet clothes were discarded in a sopping heap on the floor to be dealt with later before Haylen stalked off to produce a stimpak from the first aid kit.

Gravity won over Jackie's will to remain on two feet and dragged her to flop down on the bed. She should be arguing that she wasn't worth the waste of resources but she was tired. Maybe she was greedy too because she just wanted to feel some semblance of better. The mattress creaked its protest as Haylen came to sit next to her.

"You didn't deserve this," condolences were offered up as Haylen pricked her arm with the needle. "I'm sorry."

Jackie leaned forward to prop her elbows upon her knees and catch her temples between her fingers. Sandy bangs stuck to her forehead and dampened tendrils slipped from her shoulders to hang about her face.

"He was punishing me." She didn't know why she felt the need to explain.

Haylen hesitated before asking, "For Danse?"

Where did she even begin? For Danse, for jumping ship, for resisting, for disappointing her Elder, it went far beyond her simple betrayal of the Brotherhood. Maxson had taken it personally and wielded his wrath upon Jackie. She supposed that was her fault for allowing him to believe that their relationship meant more than it did.

"After everything with Danse, I hadn't planned on coming back. Except a few weeks after the incident, Geers showed up at the listening post under orders to bring me back." Jacked settled into full slouch mode and gauged Haylen from her peripherals as she recounted how she had come to this point. "Figured I'd go along with the pomp and circumstance, show face, blow smoke up Maxson's ass and not so politely hand in my resignation."

She should have known her betrayal was going to cost her more than petty threats and a strain on her vocal cords. Should have know she was walking into a trap.

"I guess you know it wasn't that easy." Beside her Haylen patiently waited, let her decide what, if anything, she wanted to disclose. Jackie gnawed the inside of her lip and issued a sigh before continuing, "I left in the middle of the night, went back to the bunker with the intention of leaving the Commonwealth. But I was terrified Maxson would hunt us down and kill us both, so I came came back before anyone noticed I was gone."

Haylen shifted beside her and nodded her encouragement.

"Maxson let it slide…" her hands dragged down her face and fell to ring out her increasing anxiety, "But after a couple weeks I...I just couldn't take it." Desperate to keep the scroll of Maxson's violation from invading her mind, Jackie clamped down on her cheek until the tang of blood tickled her tongue. "When I came back the second time Maxson, he- and the church… and then- this…" Her hands ceased their twisting to surrender her palms and offer up her crusted and weeping wrists.

"The church?" confusion pulled at Haylen's brow, but she quickly put the pieces together, "Wait… you mean the Railroad?"

The floor was far more interesting than admitting the crushing truth that she had willingly murdered those people.

Haylen took her silence as confirmation and tugged at her arm until she had Jackie's attention, "That was a planned, preemptive strike."

"No," she shook her head, "It was a display of power. Maxson meant to show me what he was capable of if I disobeyed again."

"Jackie-"

"I refused to follow the orders," she interrupted before Haylen could form an argument, "and he simply told me I was ' _welcome to fuck the abomination_ ' but there would be consequences. He knew I'd had contact with them, knew I didn't necessarily disagree with what they were doing. He said they were the price I would pay for Danse's continued safety."

Hayley gawked and paled at the true motive behind the Brotherhood's _preemptive_ murder of the faction.

"They were just people," regret shook through Jackie's words, "trying to do what they thought was right. They didn't deserve to die. And I murdered them for Maxson's greed for power and need for control. I murdered them for Danse."

She scoffed because once again… the irony of the situation.

"Whether that's true or not, the Railroad was a threat. They had plans to destroy us."

"Perhaps." It was a reasonable counter argument, but Jackie had grown tired of the senseless killing. "But if the Brotherhood had worked towards unity and achieving a common goal," _and hadn't decided to force their xenophobic beliefs upon the Commonwealth,_ "maybe there wouldn't have been a need for a contingency plan."

A moment passed where Haylen picked at a thread on her sleeve, her features knotted together, "We're at war, there's always a need for a contingency plan."

"Even if it's murder?" Jackie watched as her friend's fingers stilled, her face yielding an unspoken truth. "The Brotherhood is wrong and you know it. We wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't."

Slowly, Haylen's eyes lifted to meet hers, "I'm not the only one willing to follow you to the gates of Hell."

Heat rushed and forced the breath from her lungs. Geers had said it earlier and now here was Haylen passing the baton to her. The title rolled her gut and cantered her pulse. How could she lead the Brotherhood if she couldn't even fight her own madness? And yet, it seemed the Brotherhood wanted her more than she wanted herself. What did they see that she had clearly overlooked within herself?

"You should get some rest." Haylen had mercy and rescued her from vicious vortex of her mind.

Suddenly overwhelmed with sleepiness, the pillow called her name. The panic about the very real possibility of Elder quickly compartmentalized as Jackie curled her legs up to tuck them between the sheets, "You're staying?"

Footsteps echoed about the space as Haylen went to flick off the overhead lights. "I don't think it's wise for you to be alone."

Jackie felt oddly warm, her lids heavy with drowsiness as darkness filled the room. Haylen settled beside her and as exhaustion dragged her into unconsciousness, she absently wondered if her friend had slipped a little something extra into her stimpak.

* * *

Sleep brought strange dreams of wandering the woods. Skeletal trees stretched their spindly limbs to the sky to scrape a hole within the heavens. A nomad amongst the forest, aimlessly roaming with no end in sight. No purpose or direction. The wind whispered through the branches, carrying a storm upon the breeze. Still, she drifted until the gale howled in her ears and a clap of thunder snapped her lids apart.

Jackie jerked upright in the bed, her heart pounding in her ears and sweat sticking her shirt to her skin. Frantically, she searched the darkened space for the source of the noise but found only vague shapes and blurred outlines. A single source of light pooled on the floor beneath the door of her room. The Prydwen, she was on the Prydwen. It was only a dream, the thunderous clang a delusion of her nightmare.

Hands pushed her matted hair out of her face before falling to her side. The left collided with a thud upon a warm body eliciting a groan from the slender form beside her.

 _Haylen._

Her friend stirred, attempting to wake. "Shh…" Jackie smoothed her fingers over Haylen's shoulder, "go back sleep."

Obediently, she settled and Jackie waited a moment before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, an obscure blotch on the wall the object of her fixation as she absently wondered if she was losing it. Perhaps she really was crazy _,_ her sanity yet another victim to the wasteland.

She rubbed at her bleary eyes, wondering what time it was and spotted the faint outline of her pip-boy on the desk. Joints popped and cracked as she reached for the coveted possession. As she groped in the dark, her hand knocked against a small object sending it skittering into the corner. _Shit._

The pip-boy was clumsily snatched from the desk and she dragged her aching bones to crawl upon the floor. Hazy green light illuminated the space as she fumbled for the lost article. She palmed the floor, sweeping in wide arcs until finally she laid claim to the prize behind a box of files.

 _A holotape?_

With legs crossed, Jackie sat back to examine the tape. There was no label and she noted it was free of markings as she turned it over in her hands. Strange. Maybe Haylen had left it there? Maybe she should put it back where she found it.

But of course, curiosity got the better of her and she shoved it in her pip-boy. No words lit up on the screen just the sputtering of an audio recording. Static filled the silence before the voice spoke...

 _The time is 0100 hours on Thursday June 2, 2288._

 _The name I was give is Arthur Maxson, Elder of the East Coast Division of the Brotherhood of Steel..._

The tape crackled out a pause.

 _However, I was created unit designation A2-78, an agent of the Institute sent to infiltrate the Brotherhood. My mission here has failed._


	19. Final Judgement - Part 1

_"Shoot me down, but I get up_  
 _I'm bulletproof nothing to lose_  
 _Ricochet, you take your aim_  
 _Fire away, fire away_  
 _You shoot me down but I won't fall,_  
 _I am titanium"_

 _-Titanium, David Guetta-_

 _'My mission here has failed...'_

All Jackie heard was the drone of static as her Pip-Boy continued to rumble out words. Words that registered no meaning. Static in her ears that clouded her mind and crackled through the air, tingling upon her skin with the rising of her hair. Her brain caught on the obvious and she struggled to comprehend the information that was being fed to her.

 _'...It is not forgiveness I seek. I am however, sorry.'_

The tape clicked off and her Pip-Boy sputtered into silence once more. For a moment, Jackie just stared, attempting to process what she had heard. Beyond the flicker of the screen, movement pricked her peripherals. The darkness was alive. It shifted and morphed into disfigured silhouettes lurking in the shadows of hazy green light. Phantoms stalked her, waiting for the click of gears to form coherent thought.

Maxson...was a replacement? A _synth_?

Her mind gummed the word, still struggling to understand.

But how? It couldn't be possible...could it?

Suddenly the shadows rushed in to tear her heart asunder. Her chest heaved, heart thundering away, sending blood to beat within her ears. Madness once again ensnared her every thought with the realization that this whole time she had been played, baited and dragged along like some goddamn fish on a hook.

"Traitor…" her white-knuckled grasp threatened to strangle the life from her Pip-Boy and Jackie's disgusted whisper gave way to a deranged shout, "Traitor!"

Fueled by fury, Jackie thrust herself upwards with such force that the blood drained from her brain. Dizzy and uncoordinated she wavered and barely caught herself as she stumbled into the desk, sending her Pip-Boy skidding into the steel wall with a crack.

"Goddammit!" she cursed with a vicious shake of her head. Her hands a vice upon the edge of the desk, the only thing keeping her upright and tethered to what little grasp on reality she still possessed.

Greenish light spattered the wall a sickly hue, not quite concealing the cackling specters who heckled her sanity. Jackie had trusted Maxson, _trusted_ him. Believed that even in his coercion of her, it had somehow all been for a greater good. That despite Maxson's own increasing instability, he was honorable. A man who would stand behind his beliefs no matter the cost. That his unreasonable hatred for all things non-human was derived from his own very human flaws of prejudice and greed. That at the very least Maxson was a man of his word.

But it was a lie. All of it. A goddamn lie fabricated by the Institute and her estranged son.

Maxson had been programmed and trained and sent out for infiltration and _damn it_ , how long had it been? How long had Maxson not been Maxson? Since Danse's exile? Before the Brotherhood sent her into the Institute? Since she walked with him that first night on the beach?

 _Oh God._

Jackie couldn't breathe. The desk wobbled beneath her and she tried to keep her balance. Shaking and spinning and _God_ she felt sick. Bile churned her gut and heaved up her throat, threatening to spill upon the floor between her feet.

Maxson… No, not Maxson, that _synth_ had used her and for what? What purpose had it served other than for her son to be able to say, _'just because I can'_?

Unable to see or _think,_ consumed only by the madness within, Jackie slammed her fist against the desk. The sound echoed through the room, cleaving the silence with sharp reverberations that matched the stutter of her heart.

The voice of reason long since gone, Jackie scrounged around until her hand brushed up against her pistol, abandoned from her earlier bout of insanity. Just like before, her fingers caressed the metal, palmed the grip. Her form of wasteland justice. For all that Maxson had done, retribution would be paid.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," she snarled and groped along the edge of the room in search of the lights.

Finally her fingers found the switch and flicked on the light, illuminating the space. Next to the bed, Haylen groaned and shielded her eyes. She blinked, attempting to adjust to the sudden light, and stumbled towards Jackie with lumbering steps.

How much had she heard? All of it? None of it? Less than a second passed before Jackie decided, it didn't matter. Whatever Haylen had or hadn't heard didn't change what Maxson had done. Swift condemnation would strike for his atrocities and there would be blood for his atonement, oh yes there would be blood.

Armed with a psychotic grin and propelled only by the lust for Maxson's blood, Jackie paid no heed to Haylen's shouting as she stormed across her quarters in search of bullets.

"Jackie!" Haylen caught her arm on her way to the ammunition boxes.

Without bothering to acknowledge Haylen's presence, Jackie grunted and jerked out of her friend's grasp.

"Hey!" Except Haylen was quicker, her hands tightened on Jackie's shoulders and spun her around before she could evade Haylen's advance. "I'm talking to you!"

"Get off me!" Jackie reeled, shaking in unthrottled rage. She clawed at Haylen's wrists, ripped at her fingers like an animal trapped in its panicked attempt to escape. Haylen pushed back with a growl, her brows knotted together from the struggle. Wild and untamed, Jackie's eyes raked Haylen's face, "You heard him?" Sensing defeat, Jackie clutched at Haylen's shirt, pulling her closer in desperation, "You heard what he said?"

"Yes," Haylen confirmed with a quick breath.

Jackie's grip tightened with Haylen's answer. "He lied to us, to all of us," she spat a ragged pant, unable to subdue the creeping sense of betrayal, "...to me!"

"You…" Haylen's response caught on Jackie's admission, her hold slackened and her jaw hung open a moment before she pushed forward, "you don't know where that tape came from."

"It was him." Jackie bit off, unwilling to quell her anger so quickly, "He was here! He left it."

"Even if he did, you can't just go murdering the elder in his sleep. The crew...they'll shoot you in the back before you even get off the ship."

She was right, and Jackie knew it, but she didn't care. That raw and achy feeling was rising within her chest again. It threatened to crack her resolve as fragments of hopelessness scraped against her ribs with each rattling breath she took.

"Haylen, I can't…" fire and fury gave way to pleading, "I can't let him win."

A moment passed where Haylen said nothing. Her eyes searched Jackie, gathering the pieces hidden between the lines that Maxson's execution stretched far deeper than simply upholding the integrity of the Brotherhood - it was personal.

"If you execute him-"

"He manipulated me, _used_ me," Jackie hissed. Still, Haylen was a wall of reason, standing resolute in her conviction not to allow Jackie to go blindly murdering Elders. Heat was rising in Jackie's cheeks with her frustration. She needed Haylen to understand, "Let me do this."

Haylen's eyes flicked about Jackie's face before finally settling on her eyes. "If you do this, you understand what will happen?"

In truth, Jackie hadn't thought that far ahead but did it matter? She was already prepared to put a bullet in her skull and if by some miracle the Prydwen crew didn't shoot her on sight, she would jump ship and deal with the consequences later.

Of course, Jackie did the only sensible thing she could think of and lied, "Of course, I understand."

"Jackie, if you do this-"

"If I don't, the Institute wins!" Jackie bore down on Haylen, challenging her to present a counter argument. "Maxson forfeited his right to the rank of Elder when he was replaced by that synth. There is no other option. I have to do this!"

A moment of silent staring passed before Haylen finally spoke, "I just...want to make sure…" She shook her head in uncertainty, her eyes falling to the floor.

"Please Haylen, I _need_ to do this."

That was the truth. Underneath it all, more than anything, Jackie needed vengeance. Maxson needed to pay for what he had done to the Brotherhood, to Danse, and to _her_. She couldn't live with the aching in her chest any longer. If she couldn't take control by taking her own life, she would seize it by taking Maxson's instead.

Haylen continued staring at the floor, the subtle twitching of her jaw visible as she chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly unsure of what to do. Slowly, her hands slid from Jackie's shoulders before falling away to rest at her sides.

"I don't know what to think," she sighed and looked up with heaviness upon her brow because she understood, though that didn't mean she had to approve, "but...if this will bring you closure, who am I to stop you?"

"…what?" Jackie balked, her mouth agape. Was Haylen giving her permission? Her hands, still clinging to Haylen's shirt, shook with the realization that maybe, just maybe, she was being allowed to put things right and reclaim a part of herself she thought she'd never get back.

On impulse, Jackie abandoned her anger and released Haylen of the death grip on her shirt. Unable to contain the quivering tones of gratitude that spilled from her lips, she embraced her friend with a whispered "Thank you."

Haylen's return of the gesture was fleeting, barely maintaining contact before she prized Jackie away. "Go put your uniform on before I change my mind."

Jackie didn't need to be told twice. Fury still festered in her bones, deep-seated and smoldering, waiting for a spark to reignite the fire. With a final reassuring squeeze from Haylen, they parted and Jackie crossed the room with quick strides. She dressed in haste, yanking open a locker and peeling off her sleepwear to shoehorn herself into the drab olive and black flight suit.

The intricacies of the uniform's buckles and clasps were abandoned in favor of jamming her feet into unlaced boots. She pushed her still damp bangs from her eyes and ran a hand through her unkempt strands, deciding that the matted mop was a lost cause as she shuffled her way to snatch up her pistol from the desk. The desk drawer caught when Jackie pulled the handle, although with a few vigorous tugs she managed to wrench it open just enough to fish out a loaded clip.

Without pause, Jackie slid in the magazine and chambered a round, the click of the pistol's slide turning her quarters into an echoing cavern. She slotted her gun into the holster and made to leave, but when faced with the heavy hatchway, she hesitated. Leaving her sanctuary amidst the purgatory of the Prydwen meant facing her demons. It meant confronting her madness and she didn't know if she was ready. But would she ever be?

Behind her, the Pip-Boy clicked on and the recording started again.

 _"The time is 0100 hours on Thursday June 2, 2288."_

Jackie glanced over her shoulder to see Haylen standing by the desk, Pip-Boy in hand.

 _"The name I was give is Arthur Maxson, Elder of the East Coast Division of the Brotherhood of Steel…"_

The quiet sputtering reminded her that the road to redemption also lay beyond the bulkhead barrier and come hell or high water, she wasn't going to let that synth get away with treason. The bastion of righteousness, Jackie left her room with renewed conviction and unlike the previous evening, her feet clapped a cadence of confidence upon the metal walkway.

On guard outside Maxson's quarters stood the same soldier from earlier in the evening. Jackie recognized the stern Star Paladin's dark features and shrewd, beady eyes - _Jackson._ She hadn't bothered to check the time but likely it was still far too early in the morning for even the sun to be awake if shift change hadn't happened.

He assessed her as she approached, his face all seriousness and hard lines, save for the not so subtle flick of his eyes up and down her body.

"Dixon." His terse greeting was a warning to behave, _don't make a scene_.

Jackie abruptly stopped before him, her hands tight behind her back, " _Sir._ " She could play the game. _I'll be good but only if you are too._

"Did you need something?"

 _You look like shit,_ was what he meant to say, all wrapped up in authority and flaccid formalities.

"I have business to discuss with the Elder." Unconsciously, Jackie's hand brushed against the pistol strapped to her thigh as she reached for the door.

He didn't miss that either and side-stepped to block her access, "The Elder's not here."

 _Not here?_ Jackie pressed her teeth together and cast a harsh gaze. If Maxson wasn't in his quarters, where was he? Surely he hadn't gone for a morning stroll and if he wasn't on the Prydwen... Jackie's mind reeled. Would he attempt an escape? Go back to the Institute before anyone was the wiser? What would he do to Danse? Would he hurt him, kill him even?

"Well, where did he go?" she demanded, shifting her weight with her hand on her hip and desperately trying to conceal her rising panic.

"I'm not privy to-"

"Damn it Jackson, where is he!" Jackie interrupted before she could stop herself, the anxiety at the thought of losing Maxson or worse, him murdering Danse before she could stop him, getting the better of her.

Jackson was not amused. His fingers twitched with the desire to shove her against the nearest wall and shout a reprimand in her face, "It'll do you well to remember your place, _Paladin_ ," he growled.

 _And it will do you well to remove that stick from your ass._

Jackie scowled but said nothing. Instead, she issued an apology, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, but it's important. I need to speak with Elder Maxson as soon as possible."

Jackson reveled in her swift yielding and solid ass-kissing. "Preparations need to be made at the airport," he said, unable to hold back his smirk.

Jackie had half a mind to smack that smug look right off his stupid face. Somehow though, she managed to check herself before flying off the handle. Maxson was her target, not this pompous windbag. She would deal with Jackson later.

With a muttered thank you and a half-hearted salute, Jackie turned on her heel before Jackson could grace her with a response. She took the rungs two at a time, her hands slipping on the rails as her boots fumbled to the deck below. All around her, the command deck was eerily quiet, save for the muffled voices of lancers drifting from the bridge. Yet the only thing Jackie heard was the steady drum of revenge ricocheting off the steel walls with each footfall towards the catwalks of the flight deck.

Steamy air, thick with summer heat, blasted through the hatch when she heaved the bulkhead open to the decks beyond. Outside, the early morning was deceptively calm. In the distance, dawn clung to the eastern horizon. Here and there, orange lanced the billows of gray, the sun warring to stake its claim over the cloud ridden wasteland.

Fog had rolled in on the sea breeze with the dissipation of the midnight storms. The sticky mist that remained shrouded the airport below, the carcasses of ruined aircraft protruding through the murk like monoliths of a time long since passed. Just ahead, a lancer leaned against the rail next to her vertibird, tendrils of smoke curling from the end of the cigarette perched between her lips.

As Jackie approached, the woman took one final drag before flicking away the still burning butt to plummet down to the wasteland. "Wondered how long it'd be before I saw you," the pilot quipped, with a hand on her hip.

"Shouldn't you be in lock-up?" Jackie recognized the snarky lancer, Cruz. Tall and lithe, with her dark features and pale skin, Jackie was privy to far more than she cared to know about the woman because Geers couldn't seem to shut up about her _unusual_ piercings.

"It would be unwise for Maxson to detain his entire crew. And don't you think we're smart enough not to reveal our entire hand at once?" Cruz sank further into her hip.

Jackie palmed the pistol strapped to her thigh. She didn't have time for this.

"But I'm guessing you have other business to attend to." Cruz didn't miss the tic, her eyes lingered a moment on Jackie's trigger happy fingers before she slid down the catwalk to hoist herself into the cockpit, a silent gesture of approval.

Without hesitation, Jackie hauled herself up into the vertibird and braced herself against the hull as the engine roared to life and Cruz requested clearance for departure. With the request granted, the aircraft detached from the Prydwen with a lurch of Jackie's gut. They descended toward the airport and Jackie couldn't help feeling as if she was too late - but for the Brotherhood, for Danse, and for _herself,_ she had to get to Maxson before he could destroy the Brotherhood, murder Danse in cold blood, and disappear into a thunderclap of blue light.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ As always, thanks to maxrev for your invaluable beta skills and support!

This was supposed to be one chapter but it got broken into two because where do I even begin to explain what has happen in the last five months? I had family here for the holidays, then I was supposed to have surgery but it got delayed. In the meantime, the carpal tunnel syndrome made doing every day things (like typing) extremely painful. I Finally had the surgery scheduled but I experienced a traumatic and life changing event last month and I had to unexpectedly move up my surgery. A little over two weeks ago I FINALLY had the carpal tunnel release surgery done on my right hand.

So I'm here and slowly healing (both mentally and physically) but after what happened, I don't know if I will ever be the same. That being said, I don't plan on giving up on this. However, writing has been hard and doesn't bring me the same joy it once did. I WILL finish this one day, if for nothing else, I will finish it for myself. I know five months is a long time to wait for an update and all I can say is, I'll try my best and I will never give up.

Thanks for reading and sticking around. I'll be working on Part 2 and editing the earlier chapters. I've already rewritten Chapters 1 & 2\. Maybe someday I will be whole again (the lyrics at the beginning are more for myself than anything else).


	20. Final Judgement - Part 2

_"There is no deceit in death._  
 _It delivers precisely what it has promised._  
 _Betrayal, though ... betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope."_

 _-Steven Deitz-_

As the minutes dragged on into hours, Danse became increasingly restless. Propelled by nervous energy, he pushed himself to stand and pace about the bleakness of his cell. With each heavy footfall, the aching in his head intensifying. It didn't matter how fast he attempted to outrun the throbbing, it stalked his every step. The whirling, feuding tangle of thoughts that Jackie's confession had unleashed, crowded his head. It was too much. All too _goddamn_ much.

The past twenty-four hours had slipped by in a blur and yet, the image of Jackie's husband endured. It fed Danse's uncertainty, robbing him of his rationale with the lucidity of the man's likeness to his own. His dizzying, swaying world threatened to knock him off kilter and Danse staggered to a stop. He growled his frustrations and mashed his fingers against his temples in an attempt to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts. But entangled beneath it all was the woman he loved, held captive by fear and coercion.

 _Maxson._

Suddenly the warring ceased, his mind clearing with renewed conviction. Danse had come here for a greater purpose; to wage war on the Brotherhood with fist and fury alone. The mess in his head was nothing more than a useless vessel conjuring his anxiety and above all else...it was a distraction.

More than anything, Danse regretted his words shouted in anger at Jackie, but if he didn't want them to be his last, he couldn't allow his mind to be muddied with emotional entanglements. Regardless of his failing sanity, he had unintentionally led an insurgency to topple the Brotherhood and now, he intended to win.

Failure was not an option.

He pushed his clashing thoughts aside with the promise that he would set things right with Jackie later. War was afoot and Danse was a lone crusader, marching to the snare of his drumming feet. A loose cannon set to bring the Brotherhood to its knees. His opponent was well matched, yet Danse didn't falter. Despite Maxson's general threatening appearance, it was just that, a flaccid veneer used as an intimidation tactic.

Maxson was stockier than he, outweighing him in brute strength alone, but Danse held the combat advantage. He far exceeded Maxson in tactical expertise and field experience. Before his exile, if someone had wanted something done efficiently, done _right,_ they sent Paladin Danse. There was a reason he'd been maintained in such high regard, and even though he hadn't held the rank, he had been the strong-arm of the infantry.

War… Danse understood war. He'd spent over a decade fine tuning his skills, training to survive a life of bloodshed out in the field, and striving to be the best. The epitome of Brotherhood ideals, he upheld his reputation with proven results. Countless adversaries had died at his hands, life strangled from their eyes and burned from their bodies. An excellent marksman who wasn't daunted by close-quarter combat, Danse excelled at being the model soldier.

Maxson's legend, however, hadn't been immune to propaganda. Inflated tales strategically told to ensure his rise to power instilled a god-like fervor amongst his soldiers. In reality, Maxson was no more a god than a man; worshiped for his name, rigorously trained to look the part, and conditioned to explicitly comply with the Brotherhood's expectations. In reality, his experience with warfare was fleeting at best and the combat exposure he boasted had become a distant memory—Maxson had become complacent.

Despite his previous dedication, Danse had grown resentful and after his earlier encounter with the man, he'd begun to suspect it didn't matter what feats Maxson had overcome. The more he thought about it, the more he doubted that the elder had ever accomplished any of them. Not really anyway. For Maxson was no longer the same man Danse had come to respected and proudly pledged his life to defend and perhaps, he was no longer a man at all.

Just as Danse was set to take another turn about the room, the cell door screeched open, halting his inner discourse. A soldier clad in olive officer's garb, sheathed beneath full combat armor, waited at the threshold of his cell. She stood at the ready, barking her contempt with the valley of her brows and the flare of her nostrils; her rifle held tense in her hands, sighted to end him if he so much as looked at her wrong.

"Move out," she ordered with a flick of her rifle towards the open door.

Danse dithered at the sudden intrusion, swaying on the spot, burdened by his conflicting emotions. He should be moving, complying with his gait towards the door. Instead, he remained unmoved, struggling to stuff down the intense desire to resist. He lingered too long though, and was met with a swift advance and a rifle to the chest.

"I said move out!" the soldier gnashed her abhorrence through the strain of her jaw. "Do as you're told or—"

"Enough." Maxson emerged from the darkness, his face an unyielding void of emotion.

Wrapped in the regalia of false pretenses, Maxson's command resurrected the imprint of their previous altercation and Danse was tempted to strangle the man before the guard could fire off a shot. His twitching fingers didn't go unnoticed though, and Maxson angled him a harsh glace, warning him that he wouldn't be afforded the opportunity. Reluctantly, Danse surrendered with the show of his hands, because all of this would mean nothing if it ended before it even began.

"Escort him to the staging area." Maxson snapped off and pivoted to retreat through the doorway.

The guard grunted her disapproval and unwillingly let the rifle go slack in her hands. "The Elder has been lenient, but..." she growled and seized his arm, shoving him past her and towards the door, "it's in your best interest not to resist."

Despite no longer being a member of their ranks, Danse obeyed and followed Maxson out the room and into the darkened warehouse. A paladin in full power armor stood guard just outside the door and from what Danse could make out, the shadowy expanse was stuffed with renegade soldiers. A vast sea of orange and drab, men and women propped against walls, crammed into corners, and packed into disorganized rows. Guards swept the isles with sharp flicks of theirs eyes and rifles cradled at the ready.

Danse stuttered in his step, stunned by the sheer number of soldiers contained within the space. The coup had left the airport—and the Brotherhood—extremely vulnerable. In his selfishness, Danse had betrayed the only family he'd ever known.

"Keep moving." the guard barked, shoving her rifle against his shoulder and forcing him to keep pace.

For a moment his eyes lingered on the scene, caught between doing the right thing and blindly following what he had been taught, only abandoning his inner turmoil when the door leading out whined open. His focus snapped back to his current objective, quickly deciding that he could deal with the repercussions of his actions later. Emotional entanglements were a luxury that war did not afford, so he stuffed away his uncertainty and walked on, out into the murky airport ruins.

Outside, the morning was held captive by impenetrable murk, broken only by blips of strange light drifting from the ground base. The crumbling buildings were swathed in wisps of white billowing in upon the sea. Opposite the warehouse, the dilapidated parking garage jutted through the mist and just ahead, the scantily guarded walls of the outer fortifications loomed a menacing stance. Perched above, the Prydwen hung in the sky, an ominous presence enwrapped in eerie half-light.

Heat clung to the early morning air and dribbled down Danse's back as they walked past a young initiate stationed at the door. The muttered _'Ad Victoriam'_ awakened feelings of nostalgia and abandonment. He never thought he'd return to this place, and yet here he was, stalking the man responsible for his banishment, seeking some sort of justice...or at the very least, vengeance.

Just below the surface his anger brewed, bubbling and taunting him with the heinous images that had provoked his return. Maxson had committed the unspeakable, dishonored the Brotherhood with his willful betrayal of basic human decency. Now, the elder's lumbering form bled into the fog, blurring the lines between the righteous and the wicked. Honor be damned, Maxson would pay for his violation, for his slaughter of hope and humanity.

At the cross street, Maxson deviated. Instead of following the road straight, through the gate and into the staging area, he veered left towards the eroded shoreline and abandoned maintenance warehouse. Danse's restraint was waning. Whatever the man had planned, Danse didn't trust him not to fight dirty.

 _He's going to get away._

Madness fanned his fury at the thought and without regard for the consequences, Danse lunged at Maxson. He seized his jumpsuit and jerked him around, his fist ploughing into Maxson's face with a grisly crack.

"I know what you are," Danse growled and cocked his elbow to strike again.

Behind him, the guard's rifle hummed to life.

"Hold your fire." Maxson ordered with a wave of his hand before she could snap off a shot. His attention quickly shifted back to Danse, countering with the surrender of his hands and calculated hint of a grin. "And what is it that you think you know?"

The cheeky bastard. Maxson knew exactly what he was doing.

"You're a hypocrite," Danse ground out, searching Maxson's bloodied face for any hint of the truth, but found only that sickening grin, "an imposter. A synth…"

"How dare you!" The stock of the guard's rifle smashed against the back of Danse's head, breaking his stance to topple into Maxson.

His surroundings sputtered and swayed, leaving him blinking and groping for stability. But before Danse could regain his footing, Maxson drew a hidden knife and plunged it into Danse's side. He choked down the pain and thrust himself against the other man, only for Maxson to sidestep and twist the blade deeper, sending Danse stumbling to the pavement.

The guard opened fire and Danse hardly hard time to clamber out the way, but not before his shoulder caught the white-hot singe of laser shot. Streaks of red charred the ground and he just managed to evade them long enough to hear the click of a spent cell.

Just as Danse was set to barrage Maxson from behind, the earth beneath his hands trembled and hell's wrath claimed the sky, splitting the air with a vicious volley of lead. Bullets slammed into pavement beside him and the guard crumpled to the ground a bloody mess.

The commotion, clapping at the compound's entrance, provided enough distraction for Danse to scramble to his feet and barrel into the elder. Both men fumbled to the ground, a snarl of limbs gnawing for the upperhand. Maxson outweighed him, but Danse had the skill to shift his weight and force the man to his back. He lashed out, his fist bashing against Maxson's skull before Danse's hands found purchase around Maxson's throat. His fingers clamped down around his neck, his thumbs digging deep into the soft flesh of his trachea and choking away his air supply.

This was it. Arthur Maxson's end. Raw and visceral, Maxson writhed beneath Danse, twisting and contorting his body, trying to break free of the hold. He kicked out and grappled with Danse's arms, scraping and scratching at his skin.

 _"Danse…"_

Maxson's eyes, wild and bulging with desperation, flicked about, searching for something, anything, to save him.

"Danse!" Jackie ripped him from his rage with a heave of his shoulder and Maxson sucked in the the sweet breath of her diversion.

She towered over them with her pistol sighted between Maxson's eyes, looking just as mad and untamed as Danse felt but her eyes were clear—sharp and determined. For a moment she eyed him, exuding her silent intent, and he understood. Maxson was hers. She needed to do this.

Without hesitation, Danse clambered off of the elder and hauled him up by the collar of his jumpsuit and force him to kneel before Jackie. She angled her disgust down at him with a snarled, "How long."

Maxson said nothing, only glared up at her with a hollowness in his eyes.

"How long!" she echoed with a sharp advance.

Still Maxson said nothing.

At his silence, Jackie snapped and struck him with her pistol, bringing it down in a tight arc. Maxson jerked and swayed, blinking and coughing as Danse struggled to keep him upright and just for a moment, he looked at her with lifeless eyes.

"You have nothing to say for yourself." It was a statement, confirmation that this was it. She glared at him, watching...waiting, challenging him to fight back, but Maxson refused to afford her the satisfaction.

Jackie growled her frustration and shoved the barrel of her pistol against his forehead, "Ad Victoriam, _Elder_ ," she snarled and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** T_ _he last half is sparsely edited because I just needed to post it and be done with it. If you find any mistakes, please let me know._

 _Life has been hard and I've been slowly finding the way back to myself. In the mean time, I've been wrestling with the guilt of neglecting this. I think about Jackie's story daily, but I can't even begin to describe what I've been through this year. It has nearly broken me, however, I refuse to give up._

 _This marks the end of part 1/ book 1. Not sure how I am gonna continue with posting. All under one work or a different one to make the different parts? I haven't decided yet. I'm also going try and write several chapters before posting again so I can get on a more regular schedule. So it may be another long wait for the next update._

 _Thanks for reading!_


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